


The Moon that Breaks the Night

by Twisted_Slinky



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek Hale Bites Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Pre-Relationship, Protective Scott, Season/Series 02, Strangulation, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Slinky/pseuds/Twisted_Slinky
Summary: The night Matt and the kanima attack the sheriff’s department, everything changes with one decision. Before fleeing, enraged that he’s lost control and any chance with Allison, Matt takes out his fury on Stiles. Derek follows his instinct to save his ally, and sets Stiles on a dark journey where friends become tormentors and enemies make good bedfellows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penumbria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf. No profit is being made from this fanwork. Title inspired by the song “Howl” by Florence and the Machine.
> 
> Setting: Canon divergent past season 2 episode “Fury.” AU events mixed with canon. 
> 
> Warning: Violence and trauma.
> 
> A/N: Written for the Dark Paths Big Bang. A big thank you to Penumbria for creating my banner. Please go check out the artist's post [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257718).

 

Panic. Stiles was familiar with panic, had been since he could remember. He said it started with Mom, but there was anxiety looming there, just beneath the surface, even before she was ever sick, when the nightmares were just nightmares and he could believe his parents when they said there was nothing to be scared of in the dark. Sometimes, lately, it felt like all those years of panicking on the inside were building up to what happened to Scott.

Monsters were real. Panic was justified. Only, he wasn't really scared of the monsters. Monsters were cool. Interesting. Fun to research. No, it was what the monsters could do to the people he loved. That was what make his stomach churn, his fingertips go cold, his body shake.

His feet barely able to make little circles on the floor, it took all his effort to lift his heavy arms, claw his way across the slick floor toward the detention room. He wouldn't get there in time. He knew he wouldn't. Why he was trying was lost to him. Did he really want to watch? Again? Like he had at the mechanic's shop, only this particular waking nightmare starring his dad and Melissa?

But he couldn't stop himself. He gripped the edge of the door frame, trying to pull his body further into the room, closer. Until suddenly he slowed.

Dad was on the floor. Movement, movement meant breathing, but Stiles worried it was just his own labored breathing that was sending tremors through his vision, making him imagine his father's hand twitching, his back curling as his lungs expanded. No, not today, Panic: Dad would be fine. People survived blows to the head every day. People also died from them daily, but that was to be filed away, because surely, surely, it was simply a good thing that Reptile Boy and his two inch claws were no longer interested in Dad.

Stiles did stop, though, hesitating when he saw Derek and the kanima were going head to head and that fighting didn't mean winning for those watching. Scott joined in, and there were too many players in too small a space.

Panic, there it was, this time acting as a survival instinct.

Stiles put his effort into pushing himself back out of the room, away from the battle. Going in reverse was somehow harder. Until something touched his ankle, holding tight to it, pulling him backward. The kanima was still in the room, wasn't it? Then he remembered, there were other monsters here, ones with nice faces.

"Sco-!"

The wind was kicked out of him before the shout could leave him. Scott had other problems anyway, Stiles realized. He wouldn't hear the cry. Wouldn't realize it wasn't just a warning.

The monster pulled him into the room he'd spent so many long minutes trying to get out of. Interrogation, where he'd been left. Safe. Away from harm. So much for that part.

Matt slammed the door and was over him, kneeling, shins pinning down Stiles' arms before he could try to raise them. If Stiles had been asked any other time whether or not he could have taken Matt in a fight, he would have gambled on it being an even match, but the kanima's venom left Stiles barely able to squirm under Matt's weight.

"You know, Stilinski, you have a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Matt spat. The boy was livid, spittle hanging from his lip, eyes red and wet with tears. Unhinged. "Lucky me," he finished, more quietly.

"Listen, jackass," Stiles snapped, "my friends are on the other side of that wall, and you've murdered innocent officers here tonight. You really think you're still the victim? You're not. See scales for reference. You really should be running while you still have the chance."

Matt offered a bitter, crooked grin. "Oh, I think Jackson's keeping them plenty busy. Sure hope your dad doesn't get in the way of all those claws."

Stiles bucked in anger, but Matt barely moved an inch. If anything, the attempt left Stiles weaker, breathless, the weight of Matt on his ribcage reminding him far too much of the boot that had been pressed on his chest earlier.

"So, what?" Stiles asked, trying to hide a shaky breath, "Without lizard boy helping you, the only person you can pick a fight with is someone partly paralyzed? No wonder Allison brushed you off."

Matt shook his head once. "Oh, this isn't a fight, Stiles," he assured. "This is retribution. I'm having a bad night, if you haven't noticed, and I'm sure I'm not going to win. But, even if I can't have Allison, even if Scott gets her, I can take something else of his. Think he'll miss you?"

Matt leaned forward, his fingers wrapping around Stiles' neck. "Or do you think he'll just be happy it wasn't Allison's body on the floor?"

Stiles could barely hear the words. Matt's fingers had tightened, a hot tearing pain trailing up the back of Stiles' throat. He could ignore that burn, if it weren't for the sudden buzzing in his ears, the pressure building. Surely only a few seconds had passed, but it felt like a bomb had set off in his head, like his skull would crack if there wasn't a release.

_I can't breath._

_I can't breath._

Panic. Panic again. Stiles' finger tips scraped at the floor beneath him, his heels trying to dig in, but he couldn't move. Control was a thing of the past. All Stiles could do was watch Matt's flushed face blur out of existence.

* * *

Derek could feel it, the rush of the fight still inside him, overlapping the weakness in his bones, a reminder of the venom making him lag and the wolfsbane from Lydia's ritual still circling through his system. He knew it was a wonder he was able to move, much less shift, but it still angered him, the fact that he was getting tossed around like a rag doll. If he hadn't been weak, he could have put an end to this battle. Instead, a voice at the back of his head was screaming. No. _Howling._

Because the wolf was aware of how screwed they were, the hunters in the building, the dead bodies littering the hall, Matt and the kanima still on the loose. And, of course, there was Melissa from the safety of her cell, fear so vivid on her face it made him ashamed. He knew she was the reason Scott was still in there, but Derek couldn't wait around for him, couldn't hope the boy saw something like acceptance on his mother's face.

Instead, Derek rushed out without him and almost into Matt Daehler, the human with such murderous rage.

Derek let out a growl. A swipe of his claws and one problem would be out of the way, and Scott wasn't even beside him to slow him down. Weakness, Derek blamed his hesitation on the weakness, and those few seconds paused were all Matt needed to run down the hallway toward the back door. Still, Derek didn't give chase, unsure as to what he was sensing, what it was that held his feet in place. The hunters, they were what put a chill down his spine, but when he listened, he heard them coming from the other side of the building. There was something else that was off. Something missing.

Where was Stiles?

He hadn't imagined Stiles on the floor earlier, almost exactly where Derek was standing now. He hadn't imagined his annoyance at seeing the teenager trying to slide in, right in their way, or that thought, that Scott was supposed to have put Stiles somewhere safe. Despite the blood and smoke setting his senses on edge, Derek could still smell Stiles here in the hall. His fear was pungent.

But where had he gone?

Derek stepped down the hallway, finding the cracked door that Matt had run through. The body was on the floor just inside.

Derek felt cold. It wasn't natural, the way the blood left his limbs and his tongue felt like ice when he sucked in a breath. Werewolves ran hot, but Derek had felt this sort of chill far too often of late.

_Stiles._  That was Stiles, pale and unmoving, sprawled out on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Eyes unblinking.

Derek was on his knees, touching the body before he could stop himself. Because this was a body, wasn't it? This wasn't a person. The person was gone.

Derek looked at the door and back down again, any attempt to cry for Scott's help died on his lips. Scott couldn't help. And for some insane reason, Derek almost felt the urge to hide Stiles, as if there was something here for Derek to feel shame about… There was, wasn't there? His mother had always told him their family should protect the weak, and he'd abandoned that philosophy in fear of his own survival. And he'd left Scott's weakest pack mate to die.

Derek closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Trying not to think about the way Stiles had held both of them afloat in the pool. Trying not to think about the fact that that debt was never repaid.

Hunters were coming. The kanima would kill again. And Stiles was on the floor, not moving. Not moving, but-

Derek opened his eyes when he heard it, a faint heartbeat beside him. Stiles wasn't breathing, but he wasn't gone yet. Derek ran his hands over the young man's chest, up to his neck, gently prodding at the skin there. Something was wrong beneath, crunched and rattling and broken under the surface.

Melissa. Melissa was a nurse. She could help. But she couldn't fix it.

Derek could feel it in his bones, that certainty. Stiles couldn't be fixed. Not like he was, not like this, and he only had seconds left to become something more.

"I'm sorry, Stiles."

Derek didn't understand the apology, even as he said it, but he knew it was needed. He'd told Scott the bite was a gift, not a curse, and he'd meant it. But he needed to apologize, he needed Stiles to hear the words, because Derek knew he'd never be able to do the one thing necessary to avoid them. Ask permission.

Blood filled his mouth, and the world was heat and red fog. Derek almost lost himself, almost forgot what he was doing until he forced his jaw to open wider, pull free without ripping the skin any further. In his fragile state, the boy could still bleed to death.  _Might_  still bleed to death if he didn't suffocate first. Derek's lips hesitated an inch from Stiles' hip, open mouth dripping a river of red down on the pale, damaged skin.

The gouges from his fangs looked unnatural, gory, too open. Derek sat up straight, his blood rushing as he moved to cover the wound, not wanting to look at the bite. The shirt soaked up the mess, so dark it looked black. But it wasn't black, Derek told himself. It wasn't. Stiles wouldn't resist the bite. It would take. It _had_  to take.

Derek forced his eyes to stay on Stiles' face, hoping to see something, anything. He raised his fingers again, running them down that long stretch of throat again, more carefully now. His claws were out, refusing to retract, the bloodlust keeping him shifted. Beneath the skin he felt it, something move of its own accord.

"Stiles," he whispered, "Stiles, if you can hear me, you need to breath. Just breath, Stiles. You need to try."

Blue lips twitched, something like a tremble, and Derek could hear it, a shaky, wheezing breath, in and out.

"There you go… there you go… keep going, Stiles," Derek muttered. His voice trailed off, and he was suddenly aware of more heartbeats, steady and loud.

They were coming. The wolf in him nipped and whimpered and urged. He needed to take his beta, and he needed to run.

* * *

"Go back."

The words were muffled, and Chris chose to ignore them. He never thought he'd have to hear hate, spite, emptiness, in his daughter's voice. He hated the part of himself that felt that way, hated that his wife, a woman he'd grown to love over the years, had left him to face all of their demons, the ones Gerard was such an expert at summoning.

If Allison was trying to struggle to stand on her own, to fight him as he carried her weight against his side, he couldn't tell. The venom had left her limp, defenseless, and still she wanted to go back to whatever battle waited inside. Instead of listening, Chris heaved her up with one arm and out the back of the department's storage garage. There were other hunters here, ready to do Gerard's dirty work.

Chris had the stomach for it. Had since he was a teenager. But he'd go to Hell and back before he let Allison develop a taste for it like his sister, no matter what she wanted, what Gerard wanted, what Victoria had wanted. Chris wouldn't respect anyone's last wishes if it meant losing his daughter.

"We're done here," Chris assured her, as soon as they were out the door.

He knew Gerard was positioned on the other side of the building, waiting for word from them, or for the chance to face their prey after Chris and Allison flushed them out. He didn't want his father to see them, to know they were retreating.

The back exit should have been secured. Had been, Chris thought, so it was almost with a dazed realization that he watched the shadows shift as someone walked out without any resistance. The figure paused, frozen for a split second, and Chris was much the same, holding too tightly to Allison to raise his gun.

"Hale."

The word left him, and he could almost feel Allison hold her breath against his shoulder. He'd hoped her head had been turned, that she couldn't see what was in front of them.

The moonlight striped the werewolf's face, the beast showing true in the furrow of its brow and the glisten of its canines. Its chin was soaked in red, a wet mess dripping down onto the body in its arms.

Chris blinked, shocked he knew the boy's face. Allison's friend. Scott's friend. Stiles. Stiles lax in Hales' arms and with blood in a dark wet puddle over the front of his shirt and pants.

"No… No…" The utterance came from his side, from the weight against him, Allison breathing the mantra in blind panic. "No… Not, Stiles…"

Hale stared at them, eyes wide and shining red. A monster more than a man. Then he ran, the boy still in his arms. No, not a boy anymore. Not his daughter's friend anymore. Stiles was gone now, just like Victoria. Thanks to Derek Hale.

He had been afraid this would happen, afraid that his threats and warnings would go unheard by the stubborn teenager. Afraid Stiles would become a victim if he chose the wrong side, if he didn't run from this world instead of staying with his friends. It didn't feel good, being right.

Chris watched and felt his daughter's tears soaking his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no safe haven, no place that hadn't been tainted, no place to keep him. The thought circled Derek's mind as him ran through the woods, stopped, stared, listened. He expected pursuit. He expected the smell of gun powder and the sound of engines. Neither were awaiting him when he slowed down. He turned a circle, almost in a daze, before pressing his spine against a tree and catching his labored breath.

The heavy moon above was brighter than it should have been, and he realized with a start that it was because it was no longer a moon but a rising sun brightening the treetops. Dawn already, perhaps the only reason his heart no longer felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. The pull of the full moon had retreated, leaving his teeth and nails blunt, his body wearier than it should have been.

So, it was dawn and where was he? Fleeing the scene of multiple murders, his meager pack on its own, his homicidal uncle resurrected and on the loose, and the sheriff's son in his arms, covered in a pint of his own blood. Somehow, the cherry on top had been the Argents, watching him run away, too shocked to even fire at him. They'd seen the blood on his lips, the body in his arms. Derek had felt a bizarre sense of shame over it: for the second time in less than forty-eight hours, he'd bitten without permission, something his mother would have not easily forgiven. Yes, he had his reasons, and he almost wanted to scream them at the hunters, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference.

Stiles hadn't so much as shifted yet, and already the hunters knew he was pack. Derek had already failed him. So much for paying back debts.

Everything about this moon had been a nightmare. No, worse, because he wouldn't be waking from this.

Growling low at himself, Derek rolled his shoulder, pushing Stiles' head up off of his chest. In his wild run, Derek had at least had the state of mind to shift the young man's body so that he was more upright, his damaged neck not so easily jostled. A cursory glance told him that Stiles wasn't remotely conscious, pale lips parted to let out shallow, wheezing breaths. It worried Derek, that Stiles still seemed to be struggling, but when he peeled back the tacky shirt, Derek could see the bite had already closed, pink, tender flesh where his teeth had ripped and tore. No sign of black blood, no sign of resistance or of Lydia's bizarre immunity, but Stiles' closed eyes worried Derek nevertheless.

The bite could perform miracles, but Derek had no clue if it would save Stiles from any brain damage the strangulation might have caused. All Derek knew for certain was that he needed to find somewhere to sit him down, let his new beta heal.

A glance at his surroundings told him he knew where he was, on the edge of the preserve. His state of panic had left him close to his family home, but he'd known better than to return to those ruins, the scent of decay, the sound of Peter's voice still too fresh. It wasn't safe there, and as tempting as it was to try his luck with Deaton, Derek had a duty to his other betas too. If they couldn't find safety in a place itself, perhaps they'd find safety in numbers.

He pushed himself up off the tree and took off, back toward the town.

* * *

Erica tried to hide it somewhere deep, that terror she felt, hadn't stopped feeling since the first time she saw the kanima. The full moon had helped, overlapping all that doubt and fear with a sense of feral power, but as she'd come back to herself, it seeped back in, the knowledge that Derek's meager warnings were all too accurate. Hunters, creatures who could paralyze with their venom. The bad parts of becoming a werewolf were beginning to outweigh the good.

Not that she regretted taking the bite. That sense of constant dread her epilepsy left her with was something she would never want back, no matter the consequence. And if she'd been a human who'd had the misfortune of running into the scaly monster, the head meets wall situation she'd found herself in next to the school pool would have had a fatal conclusion. So, yes, healing from actual brain damage was a perk. But that didn't mean she wanted to trade one doomed life for another.

Erica glanced over her shoulder, checking her six before she made a sharp turn out of the alley and toward the old warehouse where they'd made their lair. Derek would have kittens if anyone spotted her around here, so she'd gone out of her way three blocks to a bagel shop that served sloppy, overfilled stuffed creations. The mingling fragrance of grease and warm bread coming from the hefty paper sack in her hand left her stomach rumbling. She was tempted to down one of the sandwiches before she brought the others back to the boys since she'd ordered extra, but her nerves were too on edge for her to slow down.

She sensed Derek before she reached for the side door's handle and forced a grin onto her face. Despite the conversations she and Boyd had been having lately, about maybe finding a way to take a backseat to this action movie, she still instinctively wanted to please her Alpha, show him the change had made her a new, better Erica.

"Good thing I ordered extra," she called, sliding the door back behind her.

She could hear Isaac biting off some comment, and her cheek twitched because she could almost envision the glare Derek used to shut up her pack mate. She couldn't see them right away, rounding the hulking figure of the grounded train car, AKA the Lunar Dungeon, on her way in, but she suddenly caught on to something she hadn't noticed earlier, the scent of fresh blood, lots of it.

Erica slowed down, almost to a stop, as soon as the second realization hit her: there was an extra heartbeat in the room. She glanced around the corner to see Boyd and Isaac facing her direction and Derek's back to her, the three of them in a makeshift circle around a fourth person. The massive metal desk from the warehouse's abandoned office had been pulled out to the middle of the room to serve as a table and the guys were standing around it. She could see what they were looking at, or who, judging from the legs hanging off one end of the desk.

Isaac and Boyd looked up at the same time, both wearing frowns as they caught her expression.

"Stiles?" she asked, quietly and already knowing the answer.

If her pack had asked her to sniff Stiles out earlier she would have rolled her eyes at the task, so she was surprised at how quickly she  _knew_  the body Derek was blocking from sight.

She expected an answer from Derek, and when one didn't come, she dropped the bag of food and stomped forward, elbowing Isaac so she could see better. Isaac grimaced at her.

"Matt Daehler was controlling the kanima. They attacked the sheriff's department. Scott and Stiles were there," Isaac filled in.

Erica sucked in a shallow breath. She didn't even have time to process the part about Matt, her eyes widening as she realized the implications. The kanima had attacked a public place. Maybe it wasn't daylight, but there had to have been deputies there, right?

"Jeeze, spare me the details," she said, sarcastically, when he stopped there. She had a feeling, though, that Derek hadn't been very forthcoming with those, judging from the tightness of his shoulders.

She forced herself to look at Stiles. The blood, the bruises. The odd whistle that came with every shallow breath he took. Something had happened here.

"Derek gave him the bite," Boyd supplied.

"I didn't have a choice," Derek said. His voice was low, as if he were talking to someone else, but his tone was defensive.

Erica frowned, confused. She reached out, touching Stiles' ankle softly, but he didn't so much as twitch.

"He didn't ask for it?" She already knew the answer to her question.

Derek took a quick step back, straightening. "I didn't have a choice," he said, a bit louder. He shot her a sharp look, eyes tinged red for a moment before he seemed to regain himself. He shook his head, jaw twitching as he bit off another comment, settling on something new. "It's already done. I need you three to stay with him, in case he wakes up."

"Where are you going?" Isaac asked.

Erica raised a brow, surprised by the edge of panic in her packmate's voice. She wondered what Derek had told the guys before she'd arrived.

"I need to find out what happened after I left and get some of Stiles things from his house, to make him more comfortable. He can't go home right now. He's still healing." Derek hesitated a moment, frowning to himself. "And his home will be the first place the Argents look for him."

"The hunters already know he's bitten?" Erica spat. "How?"

"They were there. They saw." Derek reached out, grabbing Erica's shoulder gently. "They know, but Stiles doesn't. He hasn't been awake since…" He trailed off with a short shake of his head, letting her go. When his voice returned, it was an Alpha giving a command. "If Stiles tries to run, you restrain him. Use the cuffs if you need to. I don't know how he's going to react, but he'll be confused."

"If he reacts," Boyd muttered. "He's barely moved since he got here. What if he stops breathing? Call 911?"

"He won't," Derek snapped, turning to leave. "Just watch out for him. He's one of us now."

"Whether he wants to be or not," Erica replied.

She saw the Alpha's head dip slightly, him obviously catching her comment, but he didn't respond, disappearing out the back a second later.

* * *

Noah Stilinski wasn't sure how much more of Beacon Hills he could take. He loved this place, this county, this town. He'd been happy here once, met Claudia here, made his family here. His career, the one that teetered on the edge of disaster currently, was rooted in this spot, but he'd also lost the love of his life in Beacon Hills. He'd gotten to know the hospital and the local liquor store too well. He'd had the town take his badge from him. This place was haunted by terrible memories, some of which were made tonight.

It still felt a bit like it wasn't real, and he was sure that was the slight concussion talking, because when his foggy thoughts slipped aside, he was bombarded by clarity. Too much to comprehend. The bodies of his deputies were bright, vivid images he couldn't shake. The dead teenager, freshly pulled from the stream, the very kid who'd been threatening to kill him, was still all too real as well. Then there was what wasn't there,  _who_ wasn't there.

_Stiles. Where the Hell was his son?_

He couldn't find an answer to that question that made any damn sense. Noah's fingers wrapped a bit too tightly, a steady ache up his forearms from the strain. One of the deputies fortunate enough not to have been at work that night, Bragwell, was trying to speak to him. Repeating the conclusions that they'd reached earlier, after they'd realized Stiles' body wasn't one of the ones in the station, that he wasn't floating down the stream next to his homicidal classmate: "He ran. Stiles must have run off during the confusion. He'll turn up."

Those words didn't really make sense. Noah concentrated on them, turned them over. His head had been pounding when he'd heard them, but now he could understand the way the men had said it, like they were treading softly because everything about that statement was wrong.

Stiles wouldn't run.

_No_ , Noah amended, Stiles  _would_  run, if he needed to, but he wouldn't leave them behind. He'd run to the nearest weapon and recklessly toss it at whoever was a threat, because Stiles had little to no survival instinct when it actually mattered. He wouldn't leave his father or his best friend or a woman who'd been a surrogate mother to him for years with a crazed killer.

But Noah hoped to God he was wrong. He hoped Stiles had run when he had the chance. Because Noah had no other explanation that left Stiles unharmed.

"They'll find him, Sheriff."

Noah didn't argue about the title. Didn't say he wasn't the sheriff anymore. Didn't bring up the fact that he'd ignored the star held his way tonight, after he realized his son wasn't beside Scott.

"Maybe you're right," Bragwell said. "Maybe he's at home."

_Sure. Because he probably jogged here._

Noah couldn't remember being the one to suggest that as a possibility, but it would explain why the cruiser was currently pulling into his driveway. Noah exited the passenger's side without a word, trying not to see the dark windows. The morning sun was up, a reminder that time was passing. Time he could spend out searching instead of being driven around like an invalid.

Scott, he suddenly recalled, had been the one to tell them to check home, mostly, Noah guessed, as a way of stopping the EMT who was trying to argue that both of them needed a visit to the hospital. That the usually protective Melissa had still been too deep into her own shocked state to make her opinion on the subject was worrying, but Noah had been too caught up in the moment to not take Scott's suggestion.

Noah blamed the foggy thoughts. And the fact that every investigator there wanted him away from the crime scene for a bit. Just in case.

In case they found blood that belonged to his son.

In case they found evidence his son had fled.

In case they found a body hidden in a storage room.

Noah wanted to vomit. The head wound, he reminded himself, that was the reason for the nausea, not the mental image of his son face first in the dirt somewhere while he checked on an empty house. He unlocked the front door nevertheless, a bit more frantic speed in his gait as he entered, flipping the light switch.

"Stiles!"

He shouted the name, the pit in his stomach gaping when there wasn't so much as an echo. He could hear Bragwell hesitating at the door, muttering something about checking in with the department. Even his deputy already knew there was nothing to find here.

"Where did you go, Stiles?" Noah asked, more quietly, then moved on, toward the stairs.

_What happened while I was out?_  That was the question he wanted answered. There had been so much confusion when he'd awoken. Scott had been shot, they'd thought, but it had been barely a graze. Melissa had fallen into a state of quiet shock from her place in the cell. The villain of the piece, he was gone. He had ended the show by his own hand… Or someone had helped him along.

Not Stiles, Noah assured himself, but he almost preferred that narrative. What if there had been a struggle? What if Stiles had defended himself? What if seeing Matt Daelher die had sent Stiles running, afraid, ashamed? It would have at least made some sort of sense. But Scott had shut down the idea so quickly. Like he knew something.

Noah had always trusted Scott, more than his own son on some occasions, and he felt a sudden stab of betrayal, that both the boys were hiding things from him lately.

A noise cut through his thoughts, and Noah's head jerked in its direction. Stiles' bedroom. Noah let out a shaky breath and broke into a run down the hall, slamming himself into the door so hard, he was certain he'd bent a hinge. But the room was empty, not so much as a lamp turned on.

He glanced at the mess. The closet door was open, as was the window. Noah ran a hand down his face, trying to remember if he'd looked in his son's room, if he'd even seen it over the past day to notice if the window had been opened. He stepped closer to the closet, reaching out to touch the door. It squeaked slightly when it opened. That had been it, the noise he'd heard.

Noah rushed to the window, staring out in hopes of seeing movement down below. Nothing. Had someone been in here, then? Or had his jarring footsteps rattled the door open a few more inches? Noah stumbled back until the backs of his legs hit the bed and then collapsed down onto the mattress, holding his head in his hands.

The fog was back, the clarity receding. He felt as if his thoughts were fluid and slipping through a sieve before he had a chance catch them.

"Come home, Stiles," he breathed. He didn't care why at this point. He didn't care about what had happened. He just wanted his kid beside him. "Just come home."


	3. Chapter 3

_The water doesn't hurt his eyes. It's the only thought that stays put when Stiles stares up, looking through it, watching the light above hit the rippling surface of the pool. Bubbles trail up from between his lips, escape the edges of his lacrosse uniform, but otherwise he doesn't move but to blink. He can see students walking beside the pool, unaware that he's down below, lying on the striped bottom like some mythical sea creature. One couple walks particularly slowly, holding hands and circling one another as they move, completely consumed by their own company. Their image is blurred, distorted, but Stiles thinks it might be Scott and Allison._

_He thinks maybe they'll hear him, if he calls out. So he does. He tries. His mouth opens and the water comes in. The water doesn't hurt his eyes. But it stings his throat, burns his lungs, crushes him._

_I'm dead. They killed me. They're murderers. Stiles thinks the words are his, but the voice doesn't belong to him. He knows it though. This story belongs to someone else._

Stiles woke prone, on his back, but decidedly not under water. He tried to gasp, catch his breath, and he let out a whistling wheeze instead. Something was wrong; that's the only thing he knew for sure. He didn't know the high, bare metal beams making up the ceiling above him. He didn't know the stale smell of the air around him. Shouldn't he be at the sheriff's department?

He jerked up, or tried, only to budge an inch before collapsing back against the cold surface under him. A hand touched his arm. Another landed on his chest, gentle but keeping him in place. The faces above him were vaguely familiar.

His thoughts felt sluggish, like he was two steps behind. The sheriff's department. He was supposed to be there. His dad was there. The kanima was there. He needed to go back. Stiles scratched at the surface of his thoughts, trying to figure out why he couldn't remember getting from point A to point B.

"Erica," he finally managed, before his thoughts could settle. The name came out at a whisper, his voice low and scratchy, and it reminded him of the torturous time he had laryngitis. No fate could be worse, he'd thought, morosely, while his father had been tickled at the frustration from his rarely quiet son.

He opened his mouth, wanting to know why his dad wasn't there, why Scott wasn't there, but the words didn't come out.

Everything came into sharp focus all at once, and Stiles was surprised that his thoughts came to a complete standstill as he registered how beautiful Erica really was. Not that he was blind to it before, but when the arrogance and feral full-moon attitude wasn't in the picture, she was stunning.  _And she once had a crush on me,_  Stiles thought, wanting to chuckle at his brain's poor sense of timing. The girl's eyes were full of worry, but she attempted a flirty grin.

"Hey there, Batman," she said.

The other face was Boyd's, and Stiles wanted to make a comment about the Hale Pack's shared "I'm constipated" expression.

"Is he brain damaged?"

Stiles thought he recognized the other voice as belonging to Isaac Lahey, but he couldn't see the werewolf. He thought he could smell him, though, a woodsy scent, like the cheap body wash some of the guys used when they hit the showers after a game. Stiles raised a brow, surprised by the observation. Scent was not usually his strong suit, but it was somehow comforting to be able to zero in on the only other person around him.

"Way to be subtle," Erica hissed at someone across from her.

There was a sound, a shifting of weight, rubber sole of a shoe against cement, and then Isaac was in the spot, head cocked like a ten-year-old who'd just discovered he could light ants on fire with a magnifying glass. His eyes raked over Stiles.

"He's not talking," Isaac pointed out. "I think he's brain damaged."

"His throat is still healing," Erica snapped. "You're freaking him out."

Isaac raised a hand in surrender at her outburst, and Stiles wanted to sneer, snap at him just to prove his brain was perfectly fine, thank you, but his voice wasn't cooperating at the moment. And neither was that possibly damaged brain, which still wasn't providing a reason why he might be lying on a table of some sort, being watched by Derek's troop of homicidal puppies. It didn't help that he got the feeling Isaac wasn't being as cold as his comments indicated; he was not nearly as good at pulling off Jackson's ass-hole expression as he thought. There was some bit of fear in Isaac eyes, at the edge of his frown, in the race of his pulse.

Stiles reached up, his arms feeling like dead weight as he grazed his fingers against Boyd's hand on his chest, prodding at them. Boyd seemed to get the hint and let him go, taking a slow step back.

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, steadying his breath. "Where?" he asked, after a moment.

Erica and Boyd shared a look, as if trying to determine if they should answer, and the slight uptick in their heartbeat seemed to indicate a bit of nervous energy between the wolves. Stiles blinked at them, frowning at this own jumbled thoughts. How the hell did he notice a heartbeat? He tried to listen to them again, figure out why that stray thought had passed through his head, but he couldn't hear it now, the sound. He was imagining things then. Never a good sign.

_What's wrong with me?_

_Where's Dad?_

_Where's Scott? Melissa?_

_What the hell am I doing here with you people?_

_Why do I feel like I was hit by a train?_

Stiles wanted to shout at them, annoyed by their silence, but then Isaac sighed, pushing past Erica again to hover over him, mouth set in a thin line. "How can we tell if it took?"

The question didn't seem directed at Stiles, even if the other boy was staring straight at him.

"Well, he's not dead, so there's that," Boyd replied.

Erica huffed at them. "Shut up already. He shouldn't hear this from you. We need to wait for Derek."

Boyd raised a brow. "Yeah, like that's going to make this easier."

What couldn't he hear yet? What was the bad news?

Stiles reached down, numbly patting at his pocket, hoping to feel his phone, but it was missing. He groaned, frustrated that his only means of actual communication was gone. He couldn't remember what had happened at the station. He remembered bodies, Matt with a gun, the kanima, Dad on the floor…

_Oh, God, what if something happened to the others?_

When his eyes refocused on Isaac, who was still entirely too close, his breathing picked up, fast, cutting wheezes squeezing out of his throat. His skin felt cold, panic setting in, and he scrambled to find the strength to move away from that face staring down at him, hovering over him, threatening him. Stiles pushed out, startled by the sudden flood of fear washing over him, and his palm connected with Isaac's chest, sending him back. The momentum pushed Stiles off the side of the desk and he hit the floor hard.

He scrambled up, heavy legs betraying him before he finally managed to stand long enough to stagger back, away from the pack. Vertigo hit him as soon as he was upright, and he wanted to vomit. When he reached up to touch his tender neck, he realized that throwing up would be a terrible idea. He refocused, trying to tame the nausea, and trained his eyes on the warehouse he was in. Because this was an actual warehouse, a train car, maybe from a subway, parked on the floor, as if it was dumped for repairs and abandoned some time back. He didn't have time to question it.

He needed to get away. Get away from here, from people hovering over him and not telling him what the Hell was going on.

"We should have used the chains," Isaac muttered.

_Chains?_  "Shit," Stiles breathed.

As soon as he noticed that the werewolves were moving toward him, Stiles ducked, dodging Boyd's outreached grasp and making a move toward the sliver of daylight at his right, bleeding under a door at the building's side. As soon as he reached for the door handle, it turned of its own accord, the edge of the door barely missing his shoulder as it swung in. Unable to skid to a stop, Stiles slammed straight into Derek's chest, the older man grabbing hold of his arm with one hand to stop Stiles from falling.

"Stiles."

Stiles blinked up at him, the hair on the back of his neck rising at the strange look on the man's face, as if Derek was both annoyed and relieved to see him. It took him another second, but Stiles realized Derek's other hand was busy holding up a familiar looking duffel bag, in fact it was the retired gym bag that Stiles usually kept at the back of the closet.

"I told you to watch him," Derek snapped.

Stiles flinched but realized the scolding was directed at the beta wolves, who were circling at Stiles' back.

"He wouldn't have gotten far," Erica defended.

Derek's nostrils widened, as if he were preparing to yell at her, but he deflated again, staring back at Stiles. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

Stiles swallowed hard, wincing at the pain it caused. "No." He let out a shaky breath, tugging his arm back. "Let go."

Derek did, and Stiles stumbled, barely righting himself before he slipped again. He blinked furiously, eyes narrowing when the lighting of the room was too bright, leaving everything from the green of Derek's eyes to the gray of the cement floor entirely too vivid. He closed his eyes at the onslaught, wondering if he had a concussion. It would explain the sensitivity.

Opening one eye a crack, he moved away from Derek, hoping to get around him and toward the door. "What am I doing here?" he said, and was surprised that his voice came out clearer. "What happened?"

_What happened to my dad? Why isn't Scott here, giving you the stink eye?_ Stiles was almost afraid to ask. Neither his best friend or his father would have let him be taken off to some werewolf lair in the warehouse district. Unless they couldn't stop it from happening.

"Your father's okay, Stiles," Derek said, almost gently. The soft tone sounded strange coming from the Alpha and it somehow made Stiles more nervous that Derek knew exactly what was circling his mind. "I just saw him. Scott sent him home. They're fine."

"You saw…" Stiles trailed off, looking at the gym bag again. "Why do you have my stuff? You were at my house? How long have I been out?"

The words spilled out, undeterred by the burning at the back of his throat. Derek hesitated a moment before dropping the bag to the floor.

"You need a change of clothes," he answered.

Stiles blinked at him, confused, before he looked down. He hadn't yet. Hadn't seen what he was wearing or noticed the rank scent of stiffened blood on his shirt. Stiles patted his stomach, raising the shirt to see what was waiting beneath. Nothing. Just unblemished skin, a speckling of moles and hair trailing his naval. He ran his fingers over his abdomen, to his side, the memory of some sort of pain there teasing him at the back of his mind.

"This is my blood?" It came out a question, but he knew the answer, somehow. Some part of him remembered feeling hot breath on his skin, teeth breaking the surface. "Oh." He swallowed hard, feeling light headed. His own heartbeat sounded deafening in his ears. "No. No, this isn't…" His gaze shot back up to Derek, eyes wide in realization. "God, oh God, Derek, did you… did you  _bite_  me?"

Derek's brow wrinkled, his frown deep with guilt. "I didn't have a choice."

Stiles felt himself teetering on the edge of a cliff. His thoughts came too fast for him to process. He felt Derek reach up to steady him and slapped away the man's hand.

"Get away from me!"Stiles snapped. "How the hell could you do that? What is wrong with you!"

Derek's expression shifted to anger, his eyes flashing red. The low growl at the back of his throat sent Stiles stumbling backward, tripping over his own feet. Someone caught him before he hit the ground and he didn't have the state of mind to shove them off. It was Erica, he realized, when her blond hair hung against his face, currently lowering herself down to the floor, both arms around his chest so that he had to sit down with her. He stared up at Derek in mild fear, shocked that his body had seemed to react without permission, falling into submission for the werewolf.

The other werewolf, because, holy Hell, Stiles couldn't see an us-vs.-them alternative. He was a werewolf, wasn't he? The bite had taken. He was a werewolf, and Derek Hale was his Alpha.

* * *

Derek found himself on the roof of the building, desperate to escape the oppressive air inside. Stiles wasn't speaking to him, and he wasn't inclined to speak to Stiles, at least any time soon. He'd left his newest beta under Erica's charge, since Stiles seemed to have connected the best with her before the bite. He wasn't sure why it made his skin feel tight, when he thought about the way Stiles had cradled Erica during her last venom-induced seizure. Sure, she'd asked for her Alpha for help, but when he'd done his part, she'd looked up at Stiles in admiration. And maybe Derek understood why. Stiles had been the breakable human, yet he'd maintained his place in their world, refusing to take the easy way out and let his best friend fight his own battles. Or even his enemies.

If Derek was honest, he'd felt a begrudging respect for Stiles, too. Which was why he'd all but snapped at the teenager when he realized that Stiles obviously didn't afford him the same.

Did Stiles really think he would have just ripped into him? Given him the bite without consent just for the Hell of it? Like Peter had done to Scott. Did Stiles really think he was as bad as Peter?

Derek's hands balled into fists, his claws biting at his palms. It was as if the thought of his uncle had summoned him.

"Well, you're going to have your hands full," Peter said.

"Dying once obviously wasn't enough for you," Derek answered, his voice gravelly as he fought the transformation. He'd already had it out once with his newly resurrected uncle on his way to the Stilinski house, the early morning light providing far too many chances that they'd get caught in a full throw down. Honestly, Derek had been just as shocked to see him in town as he had been by the actual rising-from-the-dead part. He hadn't expected to see Peter back at it quite so soon, considering what patience the ex-alpha had shown during his revenge scheme, especially since Derek could tell that Peter was telling the truth about his powers being at an all-time low. One of the betas could probably have taken his uncle out of the picture a second time, if asked.

Not that he would ask them to do that. Even telling them about his uncle, about what Peter had done, what Derek had done to him, there at the end… It made Derek's stomach twist into knots with some bizarre mixture of regret and guilt and justified rage.

What _didn't_  surprise Derek was that Peter knew where the pack was staying. His uncle, however he'd done it, had sent Lydia after him, after all.

This place wasn't safe. No place in Beacon Hills was safe with Peter above ground. Yet Derek knew in his gut that he didn't have it in him to fight Peter right now, to put him back in the grave. There was a part of him that hoped there was truth in his uncle's declaration of sanity.

Hopeful or not, Derek wouldn't trust him. Use him? If possible.

"I just thought I'd stop in, check on my newest packmate."

"You're not pack!" Derek snapped. Then he stilled his face, hoping the teenagers in the building below hadn't heard him.

"You wound me," Peter said, somewhat sarcastically.

"I killed you. Take a hint," Derek replied, his voice lower. "You need to leave. And stay away from my betas. Especially Stiles."

"Especially Stiles," Peter echoed, some small hint of humor in his voice. "It's like you know me or something," he teased. "You know, I can't recall if I told him he was my favorite when I offered him the bite. Do you think it would have made a difference? What did you say to get him to take you up on the offer?"

Derek stilled, hoping to slow the betraying sound of his rapid heartbeat. Peter had asked Stiles if he wanted to bite? Why hadn't anyone mentioned that? When had Peter been alone with Stiles? Derek bit down all of those questions, not wanting to give Peter whatever reaction he wanted. He swallowed hard, then turned to lock red eyes on his uncle. "I assume you heard all of it, then."

Peter's look of curiosity dropped somewhat dramatically, exchanged for one of pity. "Yes. I heard Stiles take the news oh-so well. And no, before you go doubting yourself, you didn't have a choice in the matter. Not morally or strategically. Still, it's not a pleasant feeling, taking a beta by force, not having that reassuring sense of loyalty to guide your actions, even before instinct forces their obedience. Even in my questionable mental state, I remember hesitating before I ripped into Scott McCall. Though perhaps that was intuition trying to stop me from making a terrible, terrible choice in betas…" He shrugged at the thought. "I'm sure it was considerably worse for you…what, with your past."

Derek turned away. "Go. Now."

Derek heard Peter leave without another word, but it hung in the air, the reminder of the lesson he'd learned when he earned his blue eyes. Consent made all the difference in the world. And he didn't have Stiles' consent, not last night and not now, as he forced the young man to stay put. A prisoner.

Stiles wasn't someone who reacted well to being forced into a situation. Even Peter must have realized as much if he'd bothered to ask, if that story was true. If it wasn't just the homicidal wolf playing mind games. Derek's nostrils flared in anger, but he resisted the urge to run his fists through the closest brick wall. He needed to focus on the problem at hand, on some way of keeping Stiles in check long enough to get the kanima situation, and the Gerard situation, under control. It should have been an easier prospect with the kanima's master out of the picture, but Derek doubted that would be the case. In fact another beta in his pack was exactly what he needed to increase their strength.

"But not like this," Derek muttered.

Stiles could be a good wolf, smart and loyal, as he'd always been with Scott. He'd make a fine beta, and Derek had felt his wolf tug him in the boy's direction more than once, eager to sink his teeth into him every time he stood a bit too close. But Derek had ignored that instinct for a reason. For starters, the betas he'd chosen had fit a certain criteria, they were kids who needed the bite to complete some part of them that they were missing. Stiles wasn't like them. He was part of Scott's rag-tag pack even as a human, valuable to the other werewolf just as he was born.

His loyalty to Scott was an issue all on its own…Yes, Scott was promising to work with the Hale pack to solve their current kanima problem, and Derek had momentarily considered the tactic Peter had used on Scott, going after a loved one (Melissa was Peter's preference at the time) to gain the lone wolf's obedience, but Derek had squashed any plans to use Stiles to get to Scott early on. It wasn't right, that kind of manipulation. Derek was no saint, but there were boundaries he chose not to cross.

Now whatever trust he'd earned from Scott was going to be squashed in one evening. Which was one of the reasons Erica was watching Stiles currently…While he'd ordered Boyd to go back out and keep a distance look-out for Jackson's movements, Derek had sent Isaac after Scott in hopes that his beta would have a better chance of smoothing things over, assuring Scott that Stiles was safe, that Derek had only done what he did to save Stiles. In sparked no small amount of jealousy in Derek, the idea that his betas seemed to respect Scott McCall, and that Isaac seemed to even be seeking a friendship with him, but hopefully that would work in his favor right now.

_Something_  had to work in his favor for once.


	4. Chapter 4

His world was slipping through his fingers. Scott had felt this way before, when he'd first realized what he was, that he was going to carry this curse, when the moon first called to him. But Stiles had been there then to close his fingers into fists and make sure he held on to what he had left. Why the hell couldn't Stiles be here right now, beside him, reminding him that this would pass, his mom would talk to him again one day, that she'd realize he wasn't a monster and leave her room? Why the hell couldn't Stiles-?

_Why couldn't Stiles be here?_

Scott choked on a sob, a hand over his face to hold it in, and didn't so much as twitch from him spot on the hallway floor outside his mother's bedroom. There was a part of him that hoped she would think the coast was clear and try to sneak out, see the tears going down his face, and help. Because he needed help, someone's help. He didn't know what he should be doing, just that he shouldn't be here, trying to wait out his mom instead of searching for his best friend.

His best friend, Stiles, whose blood was so fresh in Scott's memory that he could have sworn he could still smell it this far away from the department...

Scott blinked, his eyes widening, and he jumped to his feet. "Stiles?"

He knew he'd heard it, the sound of a footstep hitting the floor downstairs. It took him another second to convince himself he wasn't imagining it; there was a third heartbeat in his house. Without another thought, Scott bound down to his living room, following the scent of blood, and rounded to a full stop when he saw the figure standing near the front window, peaking out the closed curtains cautiously.

Scott's stomach dropped to his feet. Isaac Lahey turned to greet him, a tight frown on his face. "I would have knocked," he said, as if breaking and entering was excused by an unlocked door. "I didn't want to wake your mom," he finished after a beat.

Scott swallowed down the first question to pass through his mind, momentarily confused by the other werewolf's appearance. "She's not asleep," he said, quiet never the less.

"I know," Isaac replied, the sadness in his voice sounding genuine.

He knew because he, Scott was certain, could probably hear her crying softly upstairs.

"She saw me, changed," Scott said. "And now Stiles is missing and I think she thinks I might have…" Scott didn't want to finish that statement. "What are you doing in my house?"

"Derek asked me to come." Isaac stuck his hands in his pockets awkwardly. "He wasn't sure how much you saw at the sheriff's station."

"Not enough obviously." Scott tried to bite down his anger, but he snapped nevertheless. "All I know is that, when the kanima finished kicking my butt, Derek and Stiles were both missing, Matt was dead, and Stiles' blood was everywhere! I thought Derek might be taking him to Deaton's or the hospital, but no one has seen anything or said anything."

Isaac shrugged. "Yeah, which is kind of why I'm here."

"Then tell me already!" Scott stiffened, hearing his mother upstairs. She'd obviously heard the shout, but that didn't really matter anymore. "Tell me why Derek isn't here himself! Tell me why you smell like you have Stiles' blood on you!"

Isaac winced, fear in his eyes. "I…" He took a breath, starting over. "I'm sorry. I think Derek thought you'd realized what had happened… I mean, I didn't know that you were in the dark. Derek wanted me to check that you were taking the news okay, because he thought you'd seen something, sensed it maybe. He said the Argents probably told you, to get under your skin."

"Taking what  _news_ okay?"

Scott hated that he sounded like a screaming tween when he was pissed, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The pale look on Isaac's face spoke volumes, and it terrified him. Scott had assumed in the aftermath that Derek had gotten Stiles, who was probably still suffering from the kanima's venom, out of the station, but when neither of them were heard from, Scott had feared they'd been captured. Derek wouldn't have been safe, but Scott couldn't bring himself to care so long as the hunters had left Stiles alone. That was the only reason he'd been able to resist spilling his guts to Sheriff Stilinski, instead sending him on a wild goose chase after his son.

"Derek," Isaac started, swallowing hard, "isn't here because he's too busy watching over Stiles."

Scott could feel the blood draining from his face. "Stiles is hurt."

"He was, but he's healing," Isaac assured. "It's just that he can't be left alone, in case he reacts badly. Kind of like you're reacting now. Almost exactly like you're reacting now, actually."

Scott could feel his claws pinching his palms, his teeth heavy and tearing at his gums. "Tell me. What happened.  _Now_."

* * *

Stiles leaned forward, head pressed against the back of the seat, trying to ignore the musty scent invading his nostrils. An abandoned train car was no place for one to discover their heightened senses, its cheap fabrics holding tight to the ghosts of past passengers beneath the fresh layers of must and mildew. Not to mention the recent, wild smell of the betas and their breakfast of bagels. The assault on his nose was giving Stiles a headache, which he didn't even realize was possible for a werewolf. Or maybe the headache was just the last lingering sign of his recovery from, oh, nearly dying. Which was apparently what had happened.

Erica had given him a dry run-down of what Derek had said when he'd arrived back, smelling like terror and smoke bombs and blood.

_"I didn't have a choice."_

Those were Derek's words, circling Stiles' mind, and Stiles was rational enough to now focus on the truth behind them. If he'd been in Derek's shoes, seen someone dying, had the power to try and save him… Stiles could see the lack of choice there, he really could, but it still made his blood run hot, the idea of someone making a decision for him while he was unconscious, defenseless. Just like Matt had apparently made the decision to murder him.

Stiles still couldn't quite remember that moment. Just Matt's face, hanging over his.

Erica thumped the back of one seat from her spot across the aisle, poking holes in the leather with one sharp claw, oblivious to the destruction that her "practice" was causing. She caught Stiles glancing her way and sat up a bit straighter, putting the claw away with ease and crossing one leg over the other to kick the seat across from her with the toe of her boot. The jerky movement rattled Stiles from his thoughts.

"Stop thinking so loudly," she said, sounding bored. "So you're a werewolf now. It wasn't cool how it happened, but whatever. Done is done."

Stiles sat up straight, glared her way, then shifted so that his back was at the window, mirroring her position. "Done? Yeah, that's probably the proper word to use. I'm done for. You just told me the reason you're keeping me here is because hunters apparently already know about me. So in summary, I'm on the chopping block, my dad thinks I'm missing, and the town probably thinks I ran away after murdering Matt Daehler… Oh, and the kanima is still unaccounted for, which, is somehow the least of my problems today?"

Erica frowned slightly. "I'm pretty sure you won't get framed for Matt's murder. I mean, everyone is saying he off-ed himself. Your dad's sheriff, you can get away with shit."

"Ex-sheriff," Stiles groaned, sinking down and kicking her boot off his seat. He noticed that his voice came out normal and reached up, touching his neck. I couldn't even feel the bruising anymore. "It's been hard enough hiding the supernatural from him without me actually being supernatural. God, this is not how I pictured…"

Stiles trailed off, hearing something outside. Derek, probably, since the big bad Alpha was currently hiding from his betas. Stiles snorted, some mix of frustration and anger welling up inside of him. He could feel it, like it was a thing beneath his skin, this sense of being pulled toward the older man, and he wondered if that's what Scott had fought against, when Peter was the Alpha, trying to make him obey his commands.

"How you pictured what? Becoming a werewolf." Erica leaned forward, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. "So you thought about it then? Asking for the bite? Because if my bestie had developed superpowers without me, there would have been a serious case of envy happening."

"No, I didn't. Not really. I mean, I just mused. Light musing," Stiles said. He made a face, annoyed by Erica's unwavering expression. "And just for your information, I was asked before. Albeit by a crazy homicidal Alpha, but still. And I said no. And I meant it, ok? Because some of us think first before deciding to flip our entire world upside-down."

"I did think first," Erica said, her voice at a whisper. She didn't meet his eye. "Just didn't take me long to decide. Some of us don't have much of a world to begin with."

Stiles shook his head, annoyed at himself. "Was it worth it?" he asked, quietly, as if Derek might be listening in.

"TBD," Erica muttered back. She tilted her head, winking at him flirtatiously. "But you can't argue with the results, right?"

Stiles bit down a small grin. "I think you already had plenty of material to work with," he answered.

Whatever Erica was planning to say in reply was cut off by the sound of the warehouse's side entrance opening. Derek strolled in, not bothering to look their direction when he barked, "Boyd's back."

A beat passed before the other beta made it inside, quickly shutting the entry behind him. Boyd was already shaking his head when he saw Derek's evasive stance, his back to the train car. Erica tapped Stiles on the shoulder and stood, quickly making her way out to the floor. With a moment's hesitation, Stiles followed her out, lagging behind her. Boyd gave them both a quick nod, eye brow raised sharply at Stiles, before turning his attention back to Derek.

Stiles wasn't sure if he should bother appeasing the part of himself who wanted to snap at the Alpha for disappearing or the part of him that wanted to spit out a reluctant "thanks for saving my life and all." So, instead, he stayed quiet, interested in where Boyd had spent the entire morning. All Stiles knew was that Isaac was supposed to be checking in on Scott and Boyd was supposed to be gathering info (which Erica had been managing somewhat by following the news from the phone she refused to let him borrow-God, how Stiles missed his phone).

"I couldn't find him," Boyd started, looking if that was the exact last thing he wanted to tell Derek. "I listened in at the station and then went to his house. I even asked his mom of he was home, and she said he had spent the night out with some friends. His folks aren't even worried about him, so he must have checked in at some point."

Derek ran a hand over his chin, somewhat frazzled. "He should have woken up in his human form after his master died. I should have tracked him right after it happened."

It took Stiles a moment to realize that last sentence should have ended with,  _"but I was too busy carrying a dying Stiles."_

"So, we've lost Jackson?" Stiles asked. "Can we assume he just woke up naked in the woods and decided to have a 'me day'? Or are you thinking the kanima has already decided to find itself a new master?"

Derek blinked at him, as if surprised Stiles was tossing the questions his way. "You sound better."

"Glad I sound that way," Stiles snapped. He regretted the tone when he noticed Derek's frown deepen, so he flippantly gestured at his upper body. "All parts healed and accounted for," he assured. "Can we get back to the missing weapon of mass destruction?"

Derek stiffened, and for a moment, Stiles imagined he could actually see hackles going up on the man. Stiles opened his mouth to comment and froze, realizing the other betas had done the same. Stiles understood why now; the hairs on the back of his neck were standing and his nose itched, like there was something unfamiliar in the air. Boyd was the first to move, his eyes trailing up slowly to somewhere above the group.

"Not so missing," Boyd breathed.

The creature dropped, a dead weight from the ceiling, and Derek jumped back, right as it landed, the kanima's tail whipping out over the spot where the Alpha had just been. The pack fanned out like the were one, Erica's claws wrapped in the shoulder of Stiles' shirt, dragging him back with her as they moved. But the kanima had picked its target, its sole focus on Derek as it advanced with a guttural hiss from its lip-less mouth. Derek reached behind him, ripping the metal top off the battered desk at the room's center and raising it as a shield when venom-laced claws sliced out at him.

Derek shot the betas a sharp look. "Get Stiles out of here. I'll find you."

Boyd and Erica only hesitated a moment before pulling Stiles along toward the warehouse's back exit. It opened into an alley and Stiles stumbled out in front of them, Erica's steadying hand keeping him upright. Boyd's wide form pushed past, gesturing for them to take his lead toward a chain length fence at the alleyway's end. Stiles hoped werewolf gymnastics were instinctual because he honestly had a hard enough time climbing the rock wall at school.

Boyd made the leap from six feet away, hands barely touching the top of the fence as he cleared it, but a sharp crackle sounded at the contact and Erica stilled as if she'd hit a wall, her staying hand keeping Stiles from reaching out to make the climb. Boyd landed on the other side in a heap, groaning, his hands outstretched in front of him. Stiles could already see the red, bloody blisters on his palms.

"It's hot," she gasped, taking a quick step back.

Stiles noticed it at the same time, the cables at the bottom corner of the fence, rigging up the electric charge. He turned with wide eyes, meeting Erica's own terrified expression.

"Ambush," he said. "This is a trap."

Erica didn't reply, but she did move, pushing Stiles hard against a brick wall. A thud sounded and she cried out, an arrow clean through her shoulder. "Go!" she snapped, her voice wracked with pain.

Stiles didn't have to look up to know the arrow had come from the other side of the alleyway, but there was a shadow bouncing from somewhere above, someone watching them from the rooftop. He could hear footsteps, even in the distance. _S_ _everal someones then,_ he amended. They'd hidden far enough to not catch the pack's attention after the trap was set: the hunters had found them.

Stiles mouth went dry when he realized they were already spread thin, Derek with the kanima, Boyd on the other side of the fence. He slid along the wall, Erica close beside him, toward a battered dumpster and was surprised when he fell back a few inches, not realizing they'd passed a doorway to the adjacent building in their haste. Erica was pulling him back a second later. She kicked out, and the metal door dented in, hanging from its hinges when it swung open. Stiles had barely stumbled into the open doorway when he felt Erica shove him further inside. She grabbed hold of the door and yanked it back into place. Stiles heard the sharp snap of metal as the knob was pulled off, Erica still in the alley, leaving him alone in the darkness. He moved to reach for the door and stopped when he heard that familiar crackle of electricity again and the thundering of too many heartbeats and footsteps outside. Instead, he took the lead she'd given him, running through the blind darkness of the room, hoping to find the other wall and a way out.

_"Careful, Stiles."_

The warning was barely a whisper on the air, and Stiles was too shocked to heed it.

His eyes adjusted to his surroundings a second too late, his feet meeting thin air as he ran straight off the edge of a raised loading dock. He hit the cement ramp hard, head snapping back against the sharp edge of a metal unloading extension. He thought the blow had caused the suddenly glare of light across his vision, but he realized with a start that it the wide delivery door in front of the ramp that was raising, letting in the afternoon sun.

Stiles shifted, hoping to scramble to his feet, but he froze before he could even stand, thinking that he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye. A man retreating to the shadows. Stiles stared, dazed by the hallucination, because, sure, it was perfectly normal to see Peter Hales' ghost haunting him. What was his life, even?

The distraction kept him in place long enough for the door to rise a few more feet. Stiles winced at the brightness flooding his sensitive eyes. He recognized the slender silhouette of the girl raising the door, her crossbow held in her other hand.

"Allison."

She stared out at him, a coldness on her face that he'd never seen before. "Stiles," she said back, her voice wavering slightly.

He expected her weapon to fall, but instead she raised it another inch, training it on him.

"Allison, what are you doing?" Stiles asked, swallowing hard.

He could see it in her glistening eyes, the struggle happening inside. Her lips were pulled taunt, her back straight. The coldness he'd first noticed was fading slightly, but she still had the crossbow raised.

"I'm so sorry, Stiles," she said, quietly. "But I'm going to stop him. We _have_ to stop him."

"Stop who, Allison? Jackson? The kanima is in the other building. Derek was holding it off-"

Stiles cut off, seeing the cold mask fall back into place at the mention of the name. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears but her voice didn't betray them.

"This isn't about the kanima," she replied. "We're here for Derek Hale." She paused, lip trembling slightly when her gaze raked over him, as if looking for something, some sign of what he had become. "And his betas."


	5. Chapter 5

"And his betas."

Stiles heard the words, but the significance hit him a second later. He'd forgotten, just for a moment, that he was one of them. He shook his head, hoping to find some sense in this. Allison was on their side, or at least _his_  side.

"Allison, I have no idea why you're suddenly trying to earn a hunting badge and gunning for Derek, but this is me, ok? Stiles, slightly annoying but also lovable, good old reliable Stiles, so would you mind maybe lowering the arrow?"

"You're with him now," she said. "Derek took you from us. You can't trust a beta to turn on their alpha."

Stiles waved a hand out, confused. "Are you kidding right now? I was a little freaked out too, when I woke up like this, but Derek told me what happened. And, yes, I was pissed off about the whole being bitten without my consent part, but the guy did it to save my life. You don't have to go hunting him to avenge me or anything."

"He 'told' you. So, you don't actually remember how it happened?" Her voice hardened. "And you don't think he might have lied to you? Manipulated you into thinking this was for your sake? He took advantage of a situation and bit you to make sure Scott was on his side and to make himself stronger, just like he attacked my mother to make sure we were weaker." A tear fell down her cheek. "But he failed."

"No, that's…" Stiles couldn't remember what had happened last night. He couldn't remember how far Matt had gone, when Derek had arrived. But why would Derek lie about it? Why would Allison? He felt sick. "What do you mean he attacked your mother? You mean at the rave?"

Allison wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. "If I had acted sooner, if I had just listened, this would never have happened. I wouldn't have lost my mother. I wouldn't have lost you."

"You lost..." Stiles blinked, surprised. "She died from the bite? I'm sorry, I really am, Allison. But you haven't lost me," he replied, wanting to say more but the words stuck in his throat. The way she was looking at him, he wondered if she'd ever believe them anyway.

"Well done, Allison."

The congratulation came from the garage door, where Gerard Argent was waiting, the smug hunter not even carrying a weapon of his own.

"Another beta," he said, almost proudly.

She glanced over her shoulder, then back to Stiles, something like worry on her face before she shook it off. "Derek?" she asked.

"He got away, but we'll find him," Gerard assured. He stepped inside, reaching out to pat Allison on the shoulder. He jerked his chin out in Stiles' direction. "With the help of our friend here, of course."

* * *

Derek could taste blood in his mouth from his long canines tearing at his gums. He could feel himself trying to shift from his beta form into something more massive, something that would bend and twist and break his bones from the inside. He held back that instinct, to let the Alpha out, to use every sense he had at his disposal to find his lost pack. Instead, he focused on keeping the shift to a minimum, vaguely aware that he was walking the streets in broad daylight.

He concentrated on the one task in front of him: finding Isaac. He needed to see his beta before he could make another move to get the others. Hopefully the hunters hadn't followed Isaac. Derek wasn't sure how they'd found him exactly, if he'd left some sort of sign in his haste to get Stiles back, if someone had seen of the betas coming to and from the warehouse…The how didn't really matter, so long as they hadn't tortured the information from Isaac.

He followed Isaac's scent, knowing it would lead him to the McCall household first. He was surprised, though, to realize that Isaac was still there, safe, hours after he should have left.

Derek let out a breath of relief when Isaac and Scott filed out the front door, both of them staring at him in shock. Melissa McCall peaked out between them, catching her mouth in her hand before snapping at the boys.

"Get him inside. Now!"

Before Derek could say anything, Isaac was circling behind him, pushing him up the front steps. Scott slammed the front door behind them as soon as they were inside.

"What happened?" Scott yelled. "Did you walk here looking like that? Are you crazy?"

Isaac guided Derek toward a chair, easing him down onto it. Derek caught his reflection in the mirrored surface of the quiet television across the room and realized why they'd been so quick to bring him inside. Not only were his eyes glowing bright red, but his brow had shifted around a massive shard of glass shoved under his hairline, small pieces dotting the side of his face. He tried to remember if he'd passed anyone on his way here and couldn't say for certain. He did, however, vaguely remember barely avoiding getting dosed with venom when the kanima had tossed him through the window of the train car.

Melissa McCall appeared in front of him with a first aid kit the size of a tackle box, and he didn't argue when she sat on the coffee table in front of him, raising a pair of tweezers to his face to pull the glass loose. He could feel the first wound seal up as soon as the object was out and knew that she was watching by the way her body tensed, eyes wide in something between horror and fascination.

"Are you ok, Mom?" Scott asked, quietly. "You don't have to be here for this."

She nodded once and went back to work, ignoring his comment.

"I wasn't ok," she admitted, staring at Derek, "not even a little ok. But I had a long talk with your…beta? That's the word? Isaac and Scott were just helping me understand their…condition. It was a bit of a shock. This, _this_  is also a bit of a shock."

From the look on her face, Derek was guessing that whatever progress the teens had made in convincing Melissa that werewolves were safe was being slowly being undone by his appearance.

Derek could feel Scott's frustration coming off him in waves, and he knew whatever was said wouldn't help matters, so he just let it out. "The hunters found the warehouse," Derek announced. "I think they have the pack. All of them."

"How?" Isaac asked, aghast. He stumbled back from his alpha, toward Scott, and Derek felt the movement like it was another shard under his skin. He couldn't blame the young man, though. Derek, after all, should have been able to protect them. He felt the truth of that somewhere deep inside him. He'd failed another pack. They could already be dead for all he knew.

"Did you even hear me?" Scott shouted, obviously repeating himself. "Was Stiles with them? He shouldn't have even been with you! How could you just take him like that!?"

Derek realized he'd missed something. Scott had been rattling off spitefire questions, Isaac snapping at him in reply, Melissa trying to sooth matters before she stood up, taking a quick, smart step out from between the three werewolves. Derek didn't have it in him. He was tired of being angry, of anxiety crawling up his throat, and he didn't feel like exchanging words with Scott today.

"Derek, answer me!"

Derek growled low, breaking free from his stupor, and he reached up, clawing out the last piece of glass in his face before turning to look at Scott. "I don't know, Scott," he hissed back, then took a calming breath. "The kanima flushed us out. It was only afterward that I realized the hunters had set a trap for us. It wasn't a coincidence. Gerard must have bonded with the kanima and used it against us."

"Gerard is the kanima's master?" Isaac asked. "I thought hunters were anti-supernatural. Isn't that against their rules or something?"

"The other hunters might not know," Scott put in, his voice softer, as if he didn't want to say anything at all. "Gerard might have his own plans for Jackson."

Derek sensed the shift in Scott's attitude. The younger werewolf was more subdued, finding a seat on the edge of his couch with his head down. "What do you know, Scott? What haven't you told me?"

Scott didn't look up. "I think I know why Gerard is after you, Derek. I thought I could fix it, on my own. I had an idea, a plan, but… But I don't think we have time to let it work out on its own."

Melissa sat down beside her son, wrapping her fingers around his. "Honey, I know I barely know what the hell is going on here, but I think you need to talk to Derek if it means getting Stiles back. That's what's important here, isn't it?"

"And Erica, and Boyd," Isaac chimed in. "Also, I'd like to not die too."

Derek felt a calm settle over his anger. He felt justified in a way, that his belief, deep down, that Scott was going to deceive them was right all along, but he buried that cynical part of him, hoping that his voice came across as neutral when he locked eyes on the other werewolf.

"Scott, I just want to get my betas back. And I want to help you get Stiles back. I know you might hate me for what I had to do at the sheriff's office, but we can sort that out after the others are safe. Deal?"

Scott nodded, as if to himself. "Fine, but you're not going to like what I have to say. Gerard came at me, a while back, and he offered me a deal..."

* * *

Chris Argent had made himself many promises in life, some of which he'd already broken, some of which he had already known were in vain upon conception. But the one promise he'd thought he'd be able to keep, the one that even Victoria had agreed with late at night, when they'd sit beside their baby's bed, watching her sleep, was that their daughter would not be raised with Gerard as her mentor.

It wasn't that Chris had ever planned to keep Allison in the dark. He'd been honest with her when he'd told her that they were waiting until she was older before they taught her about the family legacy. He wanted so desperately to let her live out her youth as a normal girl, the way he'd never been able to with his father over his shoulder teaching him what he liked to dub "the hard lessons." The hard lessons, those had been what had created his sister, Kate, molded her into a killer. Chris had been so busy trying to keep Allison out of his family that he hadn't even noticed what was happening within it. Maybe if he'd applied that sort of protection to Kate, she wouldn't have massacred an entire family.

If he'd stopped Kate, then they wouldn't even be in Beacon Hills right now, Derek Hale wouldn't be an Alpha, and Victoria would still be with them. If, if, _if._

Chris pushed his back against the wall, feeling like a stranger in his own home as he tried to keep out of the way. The small group of hunters who worked with the family were dispersing for the moment, Gerard letting them know that they'd be called again soon, to be ready for the Big Hunt. It made Chris sick to see them pass by, offering condolences, offering polite comments about his wife knowing her duty, offering congratulations on his daughter. As if Allison had suddenly been born last night.

And maybe she had been. He'd never see such coldness in his daughter's eyes. He'd never wanted to see anything close to a hunter's icy stare on her face. But there it was.

He wished he could say that this wasn't what Victoria wanted, but it might have been by the end, what with Gerard whispering in her ear, offering half threats. His wife had been so eager to save Allison from the werewolves, she'd left her open to the other monsters.

When she walked past, Allison didn't look him in the eye, openly avoiding her father. Chris reached out, gently pulling her back. When the others were out of earshot, he stood close to her.

"You don't need to be a part of this," he whispered.

She froze, her cheek twitching like she was biting off her first reply. She didn't meet his eye when she answered, "I do actually. I need to talk to him. I need him to understand."

"Do you think that's why Gerard is letting you be in charge of what happens to him? Do you think that's for Stiles' benefit?"

Allison did look at him then, anger darkening her gaze. "Don't you say his name," she said, barely loud enough for him to hear. "If you'd gone back in the sheriff's department, gone back and taken out Derek, Stiles would still be Stiles right now."

Chris felt as if he'd been slapped. When Allison jerked free out of his grasp, she headed to the basement door, disappearing down the steps without him. He wanted to follow, to keep an eye on her, but he felt ashamed that he was more worried about what she might do to her friend than what he might do to her. She was grieving, she was in pain, and she was going to take it out on anyone remotely close to Derek Hale. Chris had to trust that she'd know some sort of restraint, that she'd see Scott when she stared up at Stiles.

Without a word, Chris marched out of his house, snatching a set of keys as he moved. His daughter might be on the brink of something terrible, but he'd try to prevent more blood from being shed in Victoria's honor, as part of Gerard's little power play. He just hoped it would be enough to keep Allison from losing herself in guilt when she came back to him.

* * *

Allison walked down the steps slowly, reminding herself with every footfall that she didn't hate Stiles Stilinski.

She caught sight of him when she was halfway down and tried not to slow her decent. They, the men working for her family, had strung him up as soon as they'd arrived, even though he hadn't struggled on the ride over, even though he'd practically followed them into the van when she'd asked. Still, she understood why it had to be done. Stiles was no longer in charge of his body; he couldn't be trusted with it, so they'd pulled his arms up, trussed him up with electrical wires and put a low current to him to keep him from shifting. It was to protect him from himself, really, Gerard had assured her, and it was safer than trying to dose him with wolfsbane. A little pain was all that was necessary.

Allison tried to ignore the humming of the charge when she reached the bottom. Instead she tried to offer a small, broken smile to her friend. At her request, they'd let him keep his feet flat on the floor and his mouth free. She'd made him promise not to scream, and he'd agreed, a somewhat defeated look in his eye.

"How bad is it?" she asked, then felt stupid. She was sure the current didn't feel like a tickle, even for a werewolf.

He glanced her way, his eyes their normal whiskey color, his lips curved in their usual sarcastic frown. "So, what's the plan here, exactly? Am I your new pet now? Going to house-train me?"

Allison flinched. "You know what the plan is, Stiles. We find Derek Hale and get rid of him. I can't keep the other hunters away from you until that's done. Do you understand that?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me you really think they're going to just let me walk out of here. And what about Boyd and Erica? Where are they?"

Allison frowned. "Boyd and Erica tried to kill Lydia, remember? Erica threatened you with bodily harm, in case you've forgotten. They're not your friends."

"But you are." It wasn't a question. "I'm the one who passed love letters between you and Scott. I've been your third wheel more times than I can count, and even when the two of you were obnoxiously smitten, I was there. So, yeah, I know who is and isn't a friend, and I still want to know where Erica and Boyd are."

"They're secure," Allison snapped, annoyed despite herself. "We couldn't risk all of you being kept together."

"What about the kanima?" Stiles asked.

"We haven't found it," Allison replied. "We're still looking."

Stiles raised a brow. "Wait, so you want me to believe it just happened to show up, master-less, and flush us out of Derek's lair and right into your arms?"

_The kanima was there today?_  Allison hadn't even realized. During the attack, she'd circled around the warehouse when she'd seen movement in the next building over, hoping to stop any stragglers from using it as an escape. She'd assumed Gerard had planted smoke bombs to push the pack out, but he must have never had the chance.

"So you're counting yourself as part of Derek's pack now?" Allison asked.

"Kind of a default setting," Stiles replied, hesitantly.

Allison held back a smile, taking the comment as a win. "Think about all he's done to you, Stiles. You've saved his life when he treated you like you were just...prey. And when he should have been trying to save yours in return? What did he do? He took advantage of the moment to increase the size of his pack."

"You don't know that," Stiles said, but even Allison could hear the doubt in his voice. "Matt was attacking me."

"And there was a nurse in the other room," Allison interrupted. "Did Derek ask Scott's mom for help? Did he even bother before he sunk his teeth into you?" She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes without her permission. She could feel her body trembling with rage. "We saw you when he carried you out, Stiles. Derek met our eyes, and he looked ashamed of himself. He knew what he did to you was wrong and that's why he took you away before Scott or anyone else could try and help you. He took you and hid you. Was he even planning to let you go home? Did he offer to let you see anyone, your dad, Scott? Did he even let you call so that you could tell them you were alive?"

Stiles was quiet, his gaze on the floor. Allison could see wet tracks across his cheeks and she wanted to reach out, wipe them off with her sleeve, tell him it was okay to be upset. She crossed her arms instead, resisting the urge.

"You can't see this clearly," she finally said, when he wouldn't reply. "You're a beta. He's your alpha. When he's gone, you're going to understand that I'm right."

"But what if you're not?" Stiles looked up, head cocked slightly in thought. "You said your mother was bitten. I didn't know. I really didn't, Allison, but are you sure Derek just decided to attack her? Scott told me what happened, some of it at least. I don't think he wanted you to know what she was doing there, at the rave."

Allison shook her head, confused. "My mother didn't see Scott the night of the rave."

Stiles' expression was solemn. "You need to ask Scott about that. Then decide whether or not you should be trying to kill Derek."

The creak of the top stair drew Stiles' eye and Allison turned to follow his gaze. Gerard was walking down slowly, a bitter smile on his face as he watched the pair of them.

"My, my," Gerard said, "but the beta is loyal to his alpha." He caught Allison's eye, his smile widening slightly. "Remember what I was teaching you about their instincts?"

Allison nodded, swallowing hard. "Typical beta behavior," she said, quoting him.

When she looked back at Stiles, she could see the betrayal written on his face. She wanted to apologize, but she wasn't sure what she should feel sorry for. She was the one working so hard to make sure the others didn't try and kill him, scrambling to come up with ways that they could let an omega live, so long as he kept to the code. She was trying to save him. He'd understand that by the end.


	6. Chapter 6

Fumigate. That was the word she'd heard, amusement laced between the syllables, like it was a joke told by men she'd never met, never harmed, never really feared. She'd always thought, growing up, that other kids looked down on her, saw her as less than a person, but she never really understood what that truly felt like until now. To these hunters, she was a pest, something they needed to put down and toss out with the garbage.

Erica tried to hold her breath around the gag shoved down her throat and keep her eyes closed while her body jerked against the chains at her wrists and ankles. She was flopping around on her side like a fish out of water, the plastic that was laid down beneath her crinkling with every movement. She wished she could hear Boyd doing the same, but he'd been out since they'd been taken, his body riddled with arrow shafts. Those were wounds that were now open to the mist of wolfsbane circulating in the back of the cargo van.

When the front door slammed shut, she stilled, if only for a moment, worried that one of the hunters had decided to finish them off more quickly. Instead, the hiss of the vaporizer vanished, and she felt a sudden rush of fresh air from the front, past the cage netting, where the windows were being let down. A second later the engine roared to life and they were on the road.

"Fumigate and dump them." Those were the exact words the men had used, not even bothering to look down at the werewolves, their voices lowered out of secrecy instead of guilt. She wasn't sure who they were trying to hide their intentions from, but it wasn't their victims.

A chill crept its way down her spine after her mind cleared enough to process that second instruction. Fear left her trembling. She'd thought she'd known the risks, when she'd taken the Bite, but now… This wasn't what was supposed to happen. She didn't want to be left somewhere to rot. Would her family even know what happened to her?

The van rolled to a stop after a few minutes, and she heard the cage door at her head opening. Erica dared to open her eyes to the sting of wolfsbane in the air and saw a familiar face looking down at her. She knew this one, Allison's father.

"Look at me," he ordered, and then knelt down beside her. "Your friend is hurt, and you're going to have to carry him out of here. Find somewhere to go, hide in the woods or an abandoned house for the next twenty-four hours. Don't go back to Derek and risk leading them to the rest of your pack, understood?"

She heard the jingle of keys and felt the chains fall from her wrists. Without a second thought, she reached up, pulling the taped gag off her lips. The sting was almost welcomed.

"Stiles," she managed, wheezing around the stale air.

Mr. Argent shook his head. "I'll take care of Stiles," he promised, turning to unlock Boyd's restraints. "You take care of this one." He reached behind him, then pulled free a folded knife, handing it to her. "You'll need to cut the bolts out, so he can finish healing. The wolfsbane will slow things down, but he'll survive."

"Your daughter put those in him," Erica said, taking the knife from him.

The man stiffened. "I'm aware." Crouched low, he reached for the back of the van, opening the doors wide. "Now run."

* * *

Stiles wondered when he'd lost her, or if he'd ever had her. He had a hard time seeing the girl in front of him as sweet, dimple-cheeked Allison Argent, the love of his best friend's short life. But he'd thought, for just a moment, that she'd come down to the basement by herself to assure him that she'd get him out of this mess. Somehow, some way. It was what he would have done, if she'd been the one in his dad's cell.

Instead, he saw something that scared him: righteous anger. It wasn't directed at him, he knew, but he was standing right there, practically in the path of destruction.

Allison wouldn't kill him; she wouldn't kill. Period. Full stop. Stiles wanted to, had to, believe he knew her that well. But did he really? He knew what Scott saw in her, and that should be enough. _Should, being a dangerous word choice_ , he thought.

Even if she was as wonderful as Scott always believed, that didn't mean she was seeing clearly right now. And she had absolutely no clue how this story was going to end for either of them.

Gerard did. It was in his steely gaze, the sharp cut of his teeth when he offered a smile. Gerard knew exactly what he was doing, and even if Stiles shouted it from the rooftops, Allison wouldn't hear him, hear truth, in her current state.

Stiles slumped back, wishing he could disappear behind his arms, restrained high above. He didn't want the hunters to see the hurt expression on his face.

"Nothing like hanging with grandpa, huh?" Stiles offered up, the snark muffled against his bicep. "Most people just settle for going out for ice cream."

"Ah, yes, you have a mouth on you, don't you? It's a common complain among your teachers," Gerard said, but he didn't sound annoyed. Amused, if anything. "I've met your type before, always masking their insecurities and trauma with glib humor."

Stiles' cheek hurt from biting it. "Yeah, well, probably a better coping mechanism than chopping people in half on the weekends."

The comment left Gerard tutting under his breath. The sympathy in the elderly hunter's eyes rang false. "I understand how we must appear to you, boy. In your mind, we are the monsters, chasing down your friends to eradicate them, but nothing could be further from the truth. The hunters, those are the unspoken heroes, the ones saving lives, keeping the public in blissful ignorance of the terrifying truth beneath their noses." He paused, letting out a long, put-upon sigh. "It is unfortunate that we failed you, in that regard."

Gerard reached back, squeezing Allison's shoulder in a show of support. "I have no doubt at all, that if my son had taken more initiative in training my granddaughter, she would have been able to save you from Derek Hale's clutches before it ever came to this."

Stiles cut his eyes at the man, refocusing on the play of emotion on Allison's face. Guilt, sorrow, then a quick right into resolve.  _Playing her like a fiddle_ , Stiles thought, bitterly. He wanted to say as much aloud, but he knew the message would be lost. All it would do was make her believe that he was even more under the _thrall_  of his alpha.

Stiles was sick of this already. He concentrated, trying to listen past the creaks and settling of the house, past the sound of Allison's stilted breathing and Gerard's words. He could pick up on it, the steady sound of their heartbeats. Licking his lips, he decided to try test out the werewolf bag of tricks with a game of truth or big fat lie.

"Do you plan to kill me?"

Allison's heart began to race at the question. Stiles let out a shaky breath at the sound, worried, because it really, really sounded like she was a frickin' bundle of nerves over the subject of his death. He figured that was a good thing though, that she was concerned. Gerard's heartbeat didn't so much as skip a beat, even though the man made a play of frowning deeply, his brow raised in surprised.

"Stiles," he breathed out, "the hunting families, we have a tradition, a duty, to keep our line cleansed. If a hunter is bitten, they must forfeit their own lives. We take it very seriously. Allison's mother, my dear daughter-in-law, was proof of that devotion."

Gerard paused to nod to Allison in sympathy. The girl had reached up, covering her mouth and nose and turned to watch the staircase, as if she were expecting someone to come down. Stiles realized why she was avoiding his eye now. He'd known that Mrs. Argent had died from the bite, but Allison hadn't mentioned how. Stiles' blood ran cold at the thought. How could she, how could a mom leave her daughter like that? Just because of her hate of werewolves? It was insane.

"I'm not one of you," Stiles reminded him. "I won't leave my friends behind."

The second part came out lower, and Allison stiffened at the words, receiving the message.

"No," Gerard agreed. "You aren't one of us. I wouldn't expect you to do the same, especially when it's possible for you to live your life as you once were."

"There isn't a cure," Stiles said, "just in case you were planning to go into that 'the beta can kill the alpha to cure the bite' spill. Turns out that's not actually a thing that works, unless you're trying to manipulate a werewolf into helping you kill an alpha, in which case, yeah, works then."

Stiles tried not to sound too bitter about that factoid, one that he'd had to break to Scott after thorough research done post-Peter. He was still a bit peeved at Derek for getting his buddy's hopes up like that, but that was neither here nor there.

Gerard chuckled. "Well educated in your own mythology, aren't we? No, killing Derek would not help you directly, but that does not mean it wouldn't save your life." His expression darkened. "To answer your question, Stiles, I have no intention of killing you."

Stiles stared at the man, confused. He'd been listening, hoping for any indication that Gerard was lying, but it wasn't there.  _That or I'm just not very good at being a lie detector,_  he thought, but there was something about the way Gerard answered that made Stiles think the old man might actually keep him around. Somehow, that wasn't nearly as comforting as it should have been, since keeping a kidnapped teenage werewolf around didn't seem like Gerard's usual  _modus operandi._

"In fact, I can do more than just keep you alive, Stiles, I can help you stay alive," Gerard offered. "Help us capture Derek Hale, work with us instead of against us, and we can provide you with a means of treating what ails you. You know the properties of wolfsbane?"

"It'll kill me dead," Stiles answered.

"Indeed, but it can do much more, depending on the species. There is a very rare breed of wolfbane, almost extinct and extremely expensive. It's a class of yellow monkshood, a cousin to the garden variety, known for its healing properties. A dose of it will kill a werewolf in hours, but a small portion, mixed correctly, can suppress the pull of the moon."

Stiles brow wrinkled in thought; he could guess where Gerard was going with this. "I've never heard of it."

"No, you wouldn't have." Gerard shook his head. "Born wolves have no need of it, and hunters, well, we don't make use of such experimental solutions. But, imagine, Stiles, being able to go back to school, hang with your friends, live your life without fear of ripping your father to shreds in his sleep every time the change takes you." The old man cut off, shrugging his shoulders as if to dismiss the idea. "Just something to think about, as you make your decision."

"Stiles." For a moment, he'd almost forgotten Allison was still there, listening in. She was biting her bottom lip when she looked at him, then glancing at her grandfather's back pointedly. Stiles wasn't sure what she was thinking, but he understood the request when she opened her mouth. "Stay with your friends," she begged.

Stay, like her mother didn't. Stiles nodded in reply, knowing what she wanted him to say. "I will," he replied to her.

Gerard nodded along with him. "You're making the right choice, Stiles." He glanced back at Allison. "Sweetheart, what do you think? Should we contact Avery's group? Let him know we'll need them tomorrow morning?"

Allison must have agreed, because she disappeared up the steps, phone already in hand. Stiles listened for her, wondering if he'd be able to hear her call clearly, but, instead, a muffled cry sounded, followed by a thud. Even Gerard must have heard it, because he tilted his head slightly.

"Ah," he said, "our friend has arrived."

Stiles watched the door to the basement open, but it wasn't Allison on the top step. Jackson, his eyes reptilian and scales crawling down his arms, slowly stepped down to join them.

"You were biding your time." Stiles hated it when he was right. He swallowed hard, jerking his chin toward Jackson. "Why bother with the lesson on wolfsbane if you were just going to have your new pet kanima do all the dirty work?"

Gerard ignored the question, gesturing for Jackson to join them with a wave of his hand, as if the kanima were a shy student. When he did direct his attention back to Stiles, it was to curl is nose in distaste.

"I wasn't lying to you, Stiles. You may in fact die tonight, but I don't plan on killing you," Gerard assured, sounding almost offended. "And I do plan on obtaining our monkshood. The only falsehood I told you was that you had a choice in whether or not to test my theory on its effects. You'll be helping me tonight, whether you want to or not. Then, provided you survive, you'll be helping determine a way to suppress the effects of the werewolf bite."

"You went through all of this trouble, but you couldn't have given Allison's mom a heads up? You just let her go kill herself when she might have had another choice?"

"It's a hunter's duty," Gerard replied. "And I know Victoria wouldn't have agreed to what I'm planning to do next. It was fortunate, really, to have a chance to get her out of the way. Allison will be much easier to control than her mother was." He reached over, turning off the electrical charge. Stiles' fingers regained feeling, pain shooting through them as the nerves repaired. Gerard reached out, cupping Stiles' jaw in study. "I imagine you'll help with that as well. Who knew you'd be of such use, Mr. Stilinski?"

* * *

The dusky gray sky was a lie. There was still plenty of daylight left, but, even so, the thought of a whole day passing with Stiles missing put Scott's nerves on edge. He needed to do  _something_. He needed to help,  _somehow._ Because arguing with Derek over what they should be doing wasn't helping anyone, which is how Scott found himself clawing for an excuse to leave his own house. Someone needed to go back to the Stilinski household and make sure that the sheriff was coping and that hunters weren't keeping a close eye on the man. The last thing they needed was for Gerard to make a move on him as well.

Now that he'd circled the block three times, he'd assured himself that there was actually only one hunter keeping an eye on Stilinski: Chris Argent. The good news being that the hunter was alone; the bad news being that the hunter was currently in the Stilinski living room, talking to the sheriff.

Scott palmed his phone, wondering if he should call to check in with Derek and Isaac before making a move, but he decided he wasn't ready to talk to them again just yet. His last words to Derek had been something of an accusation, as if he'd needed his mom to fully comprehend the fact that the alpha was going around, building a pack. In honesty, though, Scott already knew that the heat had left the argument, that he'd only been scrambling to backtrack when Derek had barely managed to not scream at him during his confession that he'd been working with Gerard. That he'd had a plan, a good plan, seemed lost on them, but he couldn't blame Derek for being upset.

Scott knew that when it came down to it, especially after what happened at the rave, he felt safe leaving Derek in his house with his mom, but he'd never feel safe with the hunters around her. Scott might have hated Derek to some degree, might have been waiting for the guy to screw them over, but he understood why Derek had bitten Stiles.

"I would have done it," Scott muttered, to himself. And he knew that, if he'd had the power, it wouldn't have mattered whether or not Stiles had said he wanted the bite. It would have been selfish, but Scott knew he wouldn't have stopped. It might have torn their friendship apart, but he could never have lived with himself if he'd let Stiles die.

Scott pulled his phone free, cheek twitching in amusement now that he realized he had Derek's number saved, thanks to his mom nagging him before he left the house.

_Thank you. For what you did._

After a moment's hesitation, he sent the text and anxiously waited for Derek to reply. One didn't come. Scott pocketed the phone again, deciding he would say the words aloud when they rescued Stiles.

That was when he realized he should have been paying attention to what was happening inside the Stilinski house. Even from his spot behind the fence-line, he could hear Chris' low, somber voice. _"I assure you, Sheriff, I'm not joking. I wouldn't joke about a missing child. I know there's no reason for you believe me, but you deserve to at least know what you're up against."_

Scott almost took the side door off the hinges in his rush to get into the house. He slid out of the kitchen and into the main room, hands up as if to stop the men from continuing their conversation. Scott didn't know how to feel about the fact that both men had their hands slightly moved back, as if to reach for a firearm.

"Wait!" Scott floundered, trying to figure out what he could say. He hadn't really had a chance to make a plan before he'd burst inside. "I mean, I thought someone was, uh, breaking into your house?"

Scott could hear the question mark hanging in the air and winced at his own feeble attempts. The sheriff's face was squinched in the same expression he usually reserved for Stiles' oddball excuses. Chris Argent, however, looked somewhat relieved to see him.

"Scott, we don't have time to argue about this. The sheriff needs to know if his son is wrapped up in it, and we're going to need him to get your friend back."

Scott froze, too surprised by the man's comment to comprehend it. Argent was usually threatening him with death or bodily harm, and after Mrs. Argent had tried to make good on those threats, Scott had assumed there would be another attempt soon.

"I'm supposed to believe you're helping?" Scott spat out. "You're the ones who took him!"

The sheriff raised a hand, stopping Scott right there, his eyes livid as he looked between them. "Scott, you need to tell me what the hell is going on, right now," he warned, his voice gravelly. "What do you mean, 'took him'."

"He means exactly what he said," Chris replied. "My father has Stiles locked in the basement of my house, but he won't keep him in one place for long, especially when he realizes that I'm gone. We need to act now, before Gerard makes a move against Derek and Stiles gets caught in the cross-hairs."

Noah's fingers curled until one was pointed threateningly in Chris' direction. "I don't know what kind of drugs your family is on, but if you want to make it out of this without your father serving the rest of his life in prison, I'd suggest you drop this nonsense that your sister was spewing about the god damned wolf man, understood?" He already had his phone out with his free hand, pulling up a number. "Now we're all heading over to the station to have a nice long chat with the state agents."

Chris looked back to Scott, his eyes narrowed. "I suggest you convince the sheriff not to do that, if you want to get Stiles back in one piece."

Noah hesitated, not connecting the call when he heard the man's threat. Fear left his eyes wide.

"Sheriff," Scott said quietly. "I don't know what Mr. Argent's told you, and Stiles is probably going to kill me when he finds out you were pulled into all this, but you can't call in law enforcement to help. We can't let other people know about us, or we'll all be in danger. Stiles included."

Noah's brow wrinkled in frustration. "Scott, I just want to my son back."

"Then you need to listen to me, sheriff," Chris insisted. He glanced at Scott. "I'm not here to hunt you, Scott. Or the pack. If I was, I wouldn't have freed your friends Erica and Boyd. I'm here to stop Gerard before he turns Allison into another Kate. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you? I've already lost my wife over this, and I'm not going to lose my daughter."

Scott swallowed hard. He hadn't heard any sign of a lie in the man's words, but he still wasn't sure he could trust him. "Your wife tried to kill me," he said. "How do I know this isn't another trap?"

Chris blinked, as if surprised, but quickly hid it with a frown. "Victoria saw you as a threat to Allison's life," he said, as if to himself. He shook his head. "I don't. I see you as a means of getting her back. I need to get her away from Gerard. You help me with that, and I'll help you save your friend."

Scott sighed, then glanced over at Noah, who was gape mouthed, obviously shocked by the conversation. It looked as if they had about five seconds before the older man moved for the gun he had not-so-secretly hidden in his bookshelf.

"You need to know everything, sir," Scott told the man, then held up his hand, forcing the change. Claws ripped out of his fingertips and he could feel the heat spreading over his face as it shifted beneath the skin. "First off," he said, voice muffled by his teeth, "werewolves are real."


	7. Chapter 7

Allison could feel her heart on the tip of her tongue, the pounding rattling her chest so viciously that her vision blurred from each intense beat. Still she stared up, remembering this sensation from the day before, of being helpless, of losing all control. She expected to see death looming over her once again, mocking her for thinking she'd actually escaped its claws, but the kanima didn't reappear. In fact, if she hadn't seen it from the corner of her eye as it sliced its venom into the back of her neck, she wouldn't have understood why she was on the floor to begin with.

Instead of finishing her off, the creature had disappeared, leaving her in terrifying suspense. It wasn't until she heard the creak behind her that she realized it had walked past her toward the door to the basement.

_Oh God_.

Some part of her wasn't as scared as she should have been, some part of her was busy wracking her brain as to what the 'something wrong' with this situation could be. Then she remembered Stiles' comment from earlier, about the kanima flushing Derek's pack out. About coincidences.

She heard the echo of Gerard's voice from downstairs and realized the basement door was still open. All the will in the world wouldn't let her roll over any closer to it though. She tried to still her panic, calm herself enough to listen to what was happening down there.

She expected a shout, expected a gunshot, but she didn't hear either. Instead it sounded like they were talking down there.

"Biding…time…" Stiles was saying, his voice low, the tone somber. Allison hated that she knew his expression probably matched his voice. She hadn't really put much thought into her relationship with Stiles Stilinski, friend by default. She hadn't realized how much she cared about him, how much he'd worked his way into her life, until she saw Derek carrying him away.

"...Kanima do all the dirty work?" It was the tail end of a question, but it pulled Allison from her thoughts.

The basement was excruciatingly quiet for a moment, but some reply finally came from Gerard.

"...Wasn't lying to you, Stiles…" Allison tried to force her head up, to get a better angle for listening, but it didn't work. Gerard was still talking, and he sounded calm, despite the fact that a monster was down there with them. Was the kanima hiding then? Did they even notice it? Allison tried to hear the rest of what Gerard was saying. "…You'll be helping determine a way to suppress the effects of the werewolf bite."

Stiles' voice was louder, easier for her to hear, as if he were angry. "You went through all this trouble, but you couldn't have given Allison's mom a heads up? You just let her go kill herself when she might have had another choice?"

Allison knew she was imagining the ice running through her veins, but she could almost feel the chill that came with those words. They'd been buried in the back of her mind as well, throughout the conversation between Gerard and Stiles. As much as she wanted Stiles to have a chance, as much as she didn't want to see Gerard hurt him, she'd been confused at Gerard's offer to help him. Either it was a lie, or… She didn't even consider what the "or" could be, because all she could think of was that her mother had made the choice not to try and live with the bite. That her mother hadn't fought tradition, that her mother had left her with this  _duty_ , and…

_Don't throw up_ , Allison thought, turning it into a mantra. She wasn't going to drown her own spit-up because she was weak. She pushed the emotions deep, focusing on the conversation down below.

"I know Victoria wouldn't have agreed to what I'm planning to do next," Gerard was saying. "… Fortunate… get her out of the way. Allison will be much easier to control…"

There was more, something whispered and low and menacing, but Allison's heartbeat was drowning out everything else.

He let it happen.

He let her mother do that to herself. Let her leave a note filled with hate, with blame.

He let…

Allison felt a tickle at the edge of her eye, tears rolling out toward the floor. She wasn't sure how much time passed, but eventually she heard weight on the stairs and realized she was moving, the kanima pulling her out of the room by her feet, leaving her tucked in front of the sofa, as if to hide her from view or maybe just clear the path. It disappeared again, and when it returned, she knew that it wasn't alone.

"Allison, sweetheart," Gerard called.

He stepped into the room, alone, though she could hear the front door opening, hitting something heavy along the door frame as it moved.  _The kanima pulling Stiles with him_ , she thought, instinctively. Gerard sighed heavily, as if reading her thoughts. "I know this must be terribly confusing for you, but I promise, you will have your vengeance tonight. Derek Hale will be out of the picture, and tomorrow will be a new day." He bent down, touching her hand. "Stay put."

He heaved himself up, vanishing from her sight, the front door slamming shut a moment later. She was alone, the house quiet and dark around her. And she wanted to scream.

* * *

_The rope was completely unnecessary_ , Stiles thought, as he watched Gerard swing it over the limb right above their heads. They hadn't gone as far as the preserve, but the small grove behind the Argent house looked dense as the coming night overtook it. Not that Stiles had actually done any of the walking, since Jackson had slung him over one shoulder after scratching a claw above his hip, deadening his legs and most of the rest of his body. Stiles' arms felt like limp noodles, but he could swing them slightly, if he concentrated.

"I'd prefer not to do this inside the house," Gerard commented, either to Jackson or Stiles. "I anticipate a bit of a mess."

"Swords aren't the cleanest weapons," Stiles noted, trying not to let his voice shake as he glanced the sheath held low at the old man's side, like a forgotten cane. It wasn't an easy task, providing sarcasm, since the venom made him feel like his cheeks were full of cotton. "You know, your son runs guns now, so it kind of seems you've taken a step backward with the family business."

Gerard chuckled lightly, glancing up at the rope to center it and abandoning the sword next to the tree trunk. The branch was only a few feet higher than his head, but he nodded to himself, finding it sufficient, before he tossed one end back over again and began to loop the tail.

_Leave it to the Argents to have a taste for lynching_ , Stiles thought.

"There's a certain weight to a sword, isn't there? A permanence." Gerard gestured for the kanima's attention and Jackson raised Stiles onto his feet, holding him upright with an arm around his side and a clawed hand pressed threateningly against his chest. Stiles felt his heart jump into his throat when Gerard circled him, disappearing from sight. A second later, he felt the man's hands at his wrists, pulling the rope taunt around them.

"A wolf might stand back up after taking a dozen bullets," Gerard continued, "but I've never seen one recover from being split in half, have you?"

Stiles blinked out at the woods in front of him, wishing there was movement, but the trees were painfully still. "Uh, no, can't say that I have," he answered. "Kind of hoping to never see that theory tested though."

Gerard was too close to his ear when he replied, "Oh, son, it's not a theory. No, the only theory I'm testing tonight is whether the kanima's venom inhibits pain reception. Judging from your grimace, it seems to leave its victim with full awareness."

Stiles swallowed hard, but was cut off by a sudden pressure at his shoulders as his arms were lifted from behind. He twisted his head a few inches, spotting Gerard with the other end of the rope, tugging to put his makeshift pulley to work. Every jerk of the rope pulled Stiles' arms up higher behind him.

"Ah, could you not?" Stiles panted, then stifled a groan when his arms were raised another inch. He could feel a layer of sweat blanketing his forehead as his body was forced to bend at the waist to keep his arms upright. "I thought we covered the part where you really don't have to torture me for info. I said I'd help you. Just tell me what you want."

"And as genuine as I'm sure your answer was," Gerard said, sounding doubtful, "I assure you that you  _are_  helping me, Stiles. See, all I need from you is a scream. Preferably, a howl."

Gerard turned his attention to Jackson. "Let him go," he ordered.

The kanima took a quick step away, releasing his grip, and Stiles watched the ground, watched his useless legs trembled before they gave in to gravity's pull, letting him drop. His wrists stayed high, pinned above from behind, and his shoulder released two sharp pops.

Stiles howled.

* * *

"Quick, do it quick."

The words were muffled, spoken through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry," she answered, then pushed the knife down against the shaft. "Last one."

It was bloody work, but Erica carved at the flesh with steady determination, moving quickly to pull the arrowhead free before the skin could heal back around it. It was odd that by the third one, when Boyd had rejoined her in the land of the living, she'd found a sort of rhythm to pulling the arrows free, like she was getting used to it. She really didn't want to concentrate on the fact that she lived in a reality where she could _ever_  get used to cutting her friends open.

Boyd made a low sound when she dropped the final one to the tile floor, but he didn't comment on her lack of surgical skill. His tensed body relaxed against the grimy wall of the bathroom. The floor was covered in more filth than she cared to think about, but the gas station had been the first store she'd run across. Thankfully, it had been almost empty, and the dingy bathroom was detached, outside the main building. Breaking the weak lock had been effortless, and she'd hauled Boyd inside, satisfied to have something resembling privacy before she'd gone to work on him.

"Glad infection isn't a thing anymore," she muttered, dropping the knife.

Erica stood up, leaning over the small sink, trembling slightly. After a moment's hesitation, she turned on the water, rinsing her hands off and splashing her face.

"We should probably wash off, in case there's any wolfsbane on us," she said, absently.

Boyd moved but didn't bother to stand. "I don't feel poisoned," he said.

Glass half full, Erica snorted. "Yeah, that's probably because you bled it all out…" The floor was covered in red, a constant drip sounding from the grate at the center of the room, where the mess was trying to escape. "I feel bad for the person who has to clean this place."

Erica saw him in the reflection of the speckled mirror, giving the tight space a once-over. "Smells like no one cleans this place."

When she didn't reply, Boyd looked up at her back, then met her gaze in the mirror. "They really let us go?"

"Not 'they'," she said, "just the one guy, Allison's dad. The others… they weren't going to."

Boyd ran his hands down his face, letting them rest against his chin. He shook his head. "We can't stay here, in Beacon Hills, Erica. As long as we're tied to him, they're going to keep coming."

"Not Derek's fault," she answered, quietly.

Boyd pushed himself up onto his feet. "I didn't say it was," he snapped, "but he can't protect us. You said it yourself. We're just going to be used against him. He wants a pack to help him fight this, but there isn't one. We're just a bunch of teenagers, and if he had any sense at all, he would have ran away from this place before he ever met us."

Erica reached out for the paper towels, dabbing her hands dry to buy herself time to respond. When she turned around, Boyd was looking at her like he'd already asked the question on his mind. She asked it for him.

"So you still want to run?"

Boyd waved at the door. "There's another pack out there. There has to be. One that isn't on some crazy hunter's hit list. We need to find them, like we talked about." He reached out, resting his hands on her arms. "We've been given new lives, we've got our second chance. We need to take it."

"The pack…"

Boyd shook his head. "We'll leave Derek a note. He makes it out of this mess, at least he'll know we're alive, right? He'd understand, Erica. So will Isaac. He'd want us to stay alive."

Erica dipped her head, staring at the holes in his shirt, where the arrows had ripped through. Boyd was right, she knew. They'd been over all this before, made the same arguments. They'd agreed this was the best thing for them, for their families. Erica couldn't bring herself to nod, though.

"You wanted this," Boyd said, and it sounded like an accusation.

Erica looked up to meet his eye and expected anger, but she found Boyd smiling sadly. "I can't go right now," she said. "Not yet."

Boyd sighed the name. "Stiles Stilinski."

"They still have him," Erica said, pleading. "They'll kill him, Boyd."

"And what are you going to do? Storm the gates? For all we know, Mr. Argent went back for him too." Boyd let go of her. "You're not a superhero. You're my friend, and I don't want you to die because of Derek Hale. Or Stiles. Don't let some crush get you killed."

Erica hoped the hurt didn't show on her face, because she knew Boyd didn't mean for that to be a blow. He wasn't wrong, his plan was the best. _He_ was the best. She hadn't had a friend like him since she was a kid, and they were just at the start. They could be forever; they could be pack. But Erica couldn't quiet the voice inside her, screaming for her to go back to look for Stiles.

"You're right. I'm not a superhero," Erica finally said, trying for a smile, "I'm Catwoman."

"You're not coming." Boyd nodded once, taking a quick step back from her. "I'm not staying."

The decision seemed final, cemented by a sound outside, faint through the brick walls, but distinct. It was a wolf's howl, strangled and cut off.

Erica felt her breath catch in her throat. "Stiles?"

"A trap," Boyd corrected. He rolled his eyes at her then leaned forward, pulling her into a hug. "Be sneaky," he whispered against her hair, "be smart. You change your mind, you find me."

Erica was surprised when she blinked and found the broken door wide open, Boyd already out and running away from the store. Her body still felt warm from his touch. She stared out after him, wanting to call him back and turned instead, looking at his blood puddling the floor. Without another moment's hesitation, she reached down, fetching the hunting knife, and took off, retracing her steps.

* * *

The howl had done its job.

Derek had known, the moment he'd hear it, that it was intended for him, and he'd had not a second's doubt that it had come from Stiles' lungs. Probably ripped out by force, since the beta had yet to even transform yet. The sound had set Derek's teeth on edge, and he'd been out the door of the McCall house before Melissa even managed to ask what he was doing.

"Scott," was the order he'd given Isaac, and the young werewolf must of understood, because he wasn't at his side, running across town. At least Derek hoped Isaac knew what to do next, or this night would be over before it even began.

The city lights kept the early evening sky bright gray, but inside the grove behind the Argent house, it was black as midnight. Derek knew his alpha red eyes were beacons, but he didn't care. The better to announce his arrival with.

He could smell Stiles' pain before he ever caught sight of him. Derek could sense something else as well, another presence circling behind him, no doubt Gerard's new favorite toy. Derek pushed his way through the trees, not bothering with stealth, and stopped thirty feet shy of his beta.

"I assumed you would need a formal invitation."

Derek wanted to glare at the old man for the comment, focus his rage on him, but instead his eyes stayed on the thin band of moonlight reflecting off the sword's blade. It was a familiar weapon the hunter was holding, the same one they'd seen the night Gerard had rounded up the omega and sliced it in half at the waist. The edge was far too close to Stiles.

For a moment, Derek wondered why Stiles was leaning forward, legs folded beneath him, but realized he must have been dosed with the venom. The younger man's head lolled to the side, like he didn't have the strength to hold it high. The grimace could be seen, even in the faint light, and Derek couldn't blame him for letting it show; arms weren't meant to be facing that direction.

"Stupid!" Stiles spat, annoyed and breathless from the attempt, but Derek could hear the relief in his voice. He wanted to promise Stiles he was safe now, but it was far from the truth.

"Let him go." The words sounded hollow, even in his own ears, but Derek couldn't force them to stay inside. "And bring me the rest of my pack."

"There it is," Gerard said, his gravelly voice full of delight. "That Alpha confidence I was looking for. Though, I suppose it isn't with bravado but desperation that you've arrived tonight, alone. You're in no position to make demands."

Derek felt the air shift at his back and moved, rolling to his right before the kanima could rake its claws down his spine. He had only a second to leap back again before it lashed out, slashing at the spot he'd just occupied. From the corner of his eye, Derek saw Gerard raise one finger and the kanima stilled, frozen in place, Jackson's icy, reptilian eyes fixed on Derek.

"An interesting beast, the kanima," Gerard commented. "More interesting still, that a weak-willed teenager with a broken mind had been able to control such power."

"The teenager you murdered?" Derek commented, giving him a side glance. "I guess you didn't look under his shirt before you killed him. He used the kanima against the innocent, and it was changing him."

"Yes, well, in this case, the kanima is a somewhat temporary boon," Gerard said, a smile in his voice. "I have other plans for the long term. Which is where you come in, Derek Hale. You're going to pay tonight, for my daughter, and in interest, or Stiles will pay for you."

"I didn't kill Kate." Derek's jaw hardened. "If anyone should be out for blood, it should be me. After what she did, after what you raised her to do."

Gerard stepped a bit closer, letting the tip of the sword rake at the leaves beneath. It was a step further from Stiles' side, and Derek took the move as a win.

"An understandable opinion," Gerard said, "if it weren't coming from a beast's mouth."

Derek huffed, but bit down the comment on the tip of his tongue. He didn't want to give away what Scott had told him, about the man's illness, about the only solution. Instead he straightened, looking at Gerard.

"You wanted me here, I'm here. My betas in exchange for me. I won't fight you."

"Beta," Gerard corrected, with a small pout. "I'm afraid you took a bit too long to arrive, and I had to choose one strategically." He raised the sword a few inches, gesturing back at Stiles. "My granddaughter's favorite of the litter. I hope this one will suffice as a bargaining chip."

Derek felt his mouth go dry, his throat tightening with panic. He restrained himself from running forward, charging the man. He could feel his nails cutting into his palms. Had the bond between them been so thin, so new, that he hadn't even felt half of his pack die? Derek didn't want to believe it.

"What do you want?" Derek growled out, concentrating on the one who was still there.

The one still alive. The one who could be saved. Stiles' eyes glinted in the moonlight, still their human, amber shade, but bright with unshed tears. He was shaking his head, as if trying to get Derek's attention, but the Alpha only raised his chin, waiting for Gerard's answer.

Gerard cocked his head, as if it were obvious. "Why, the only things you have left to give, Derek Hale. Your blood...and your bite."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART for "The Moon That Breaks the Night" by Twisted_Slinky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17257718) by [penumbria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/pseuds/penumbria)




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